


The Vow

by JuJuwana



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Angst and Romance, Complete, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-04-27 22:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 51,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14435436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuJuwana/pseuds/JuJuwana
Summary: Nothing in the Underground is so great a prize as a bride's innocence. Sarah Williams marries and is deemed unworthy, not for the price of her virgin blood, but by her lord-husband's impotence. To give him the heir he married her for, he barters Sarah to his son, Jareth. Their passion is forbidden, their love a crime, their destiny uncertain.





	1. Chapter 1

**The Vow**

 

 

_**Disclaimer: Labyrinth belongs to Jim Henson. The original characters are my own. Please R/R!** _

 

 

_**Chapter One** _

 

 

Today was Sarah William’s wedding day, and she was afraid.

Betrothed at fourteen and married by proxy, now at age twenty-two, her marriage would be consummated. Her husband was much older than she. Respected, an elder of his kingdom, but a complete stranger. She couldn’t help the shivers that ran down her spine.

Some said her husband, Hidal of the Upper North Kingdom, was a tyrant. Some claimed he had previous wives that he ran into the ground with his lust. Sarah had seen the man only once, on the day she was betrothed, hidden behind a wall of velvet curtain in her father’s carriage. She could not show herself, as propriety dictated, but she snuck a peek through the heavy drapes.

He was a solid man, tall, with bookish features and a florid face. He may have been handsome, striking even, once, but now he had turned to near corpulence. His belly protruded beyond his waistline, a whipcord thin belt holding up the brash colored leggings that his kingdom favored, straining at the exertion.

“Father, must I?” she whispered.

“Sarah Joie, remove yourself from that window. What if someone sees you?”

Her father had been irritated, and rightly so. Being seen could compromise her purity, and after all, that innocence was the very reason she had been chosen. Women of the Twelve Kingdoms were notoriously flagrant with their passions, scarcely making it to womanhood without an affair or two.

But Sarah wasn’t of the Kingdoms. She was mortal, human, and a great treasure to be had.

Her father plied trade, a horse merchant of the Lost Lands of the Above. Some claimed their human world was dying; it was the reason they had to trade with the Underground. Others, rightly, knew that the wealth was Below, and any sane man would pursue his riches from that land.

Sarah was beautiful, young and untouched. She was fair trade. And her father was not stupid; he knew the money he could make off his daughter’s virginity. She had been marketed when her woman’s blood had first touched her, and a full year of bickering to and fro had settled her with the highest bidder. Hidal, the Red.

Tonight, tonight, she would be a virgin no more. But, she reasoned with practicality, she would also be rich, favored and given a title of her own right. She would always have to obey her husband-head, but he would likely leave her alone once she had a child or two.

An heir, the coveted creation.

She ran her fingers over her gown. It was spun of the finest silk, harvested by her master’s own silkworms. A true luxury, of filigreed silver and shot with gold. She wore a veil over her face, for though she was already married, no man should see her until she was broken by her lord-husband.

“It will be painful, but likely quick.” Her handmaid Lilith instructed Sarah on her behavior in a last minute rush. “Just lay there, don’t move, and it will soon be over.”

Sarah nodded. She knew the rules already. She had been trained to be a wife since a young girl. After all, what were mortal human women worth if not for their prized jewel?

“It’s time, Sarah.”

She swallowed back bile. “Yes, I’m coming, Father.” She let him lead her down the corridor, to her wedding chamber. To her deflowering.

* * *

 

Sarah stared up at the bed’s canopy, little angels and demons playing in a Garden of Truth and Lies. Her hair flowed around her neck, her nightgown of sheer linen covering her from neck to toe. She wiggled her bare feet, looking at the jewelry that had been strapped to her ankles and wrists. They looked like manacles, but it had been a wedding gift from her husband. Gold and rubies, in two thick bracelets worn in a cuff. Her ankles bore the same bands.

The door creaked open and she heard the scuff of heavy feet. She lifted her chin, just a bit, to look over the bottom of the mattress. She laid down again at the sound of the voice commanding her.

“Relax, child. This won’t take long.”

Yes, she had been told. She held her breath as the bulky man climbed on top of her, his nightshirt ruched up about his thick waist. Lords, he was heavy. She tried to suck in air, but it had been tamped from her chest.

With methodical thoroughness, her husband palmed her breasts, circling and kneading. It hurt. She closed her eyes, super tight until she saw stars and dots of color behind her eyelids. He humped her, pressing in her most tender spot. He grunted. He sighed.

She peeked. Was it over? She had felt very little discomfort, just embarrassment from him touching her.

He spoke, gruff. “Say nothing of this.” He shifted.

She nodded. She knew better than to disagree, even if she didn’t know as to what she was supposed to be quiet about. A lady never talked about intimate functions, she knew that. He rolled off her as he touched her cheek, light, and brief.

“You are beautiful,” he said. He sounded disappointed.

She nodded again, a silent thank you. Her father would be proud she had not put him in default. He had received a large sum for her, a bag of coin at her betrothment, now to be given another as she became a true woman.

Her husband watched her. She fiddled with her gown, unsure and uncertain. He didn’t speak, just observing her.

“How old are you, child?”

She was no child; it was the reason she could go through with the ceremony. But, she took into account that her husband was old. Not only did he have the sagging jowls and flared red-toned skin, but she knew him to be hundreds of years old. Time did not measure the same in the Underground.

“Twenty-two, my lord.”

“So young, so young, a mere infant.” He reached out and stroked her leg. She braced herself to keep from flinching away. “Tell me, how do you find me? Ancient, perhaps?”

She didn’t how to answer without great offense. “You are older than my father, I think, my lord.” There, she had said it, and he laughed. His laugh was young, full of flight.

“Indeed I am, indeed I am, child.” His brows furrowed. “What did they tell you of me?”

Sarah decided on truth. “That you are a lusty man and have buried many wives.”

He sighed again, deeper this time. “I have had no wife. Just a mistress or two.”

She didn’t know why he confided this to her, but Lilith said that sometimes after coitus a man wanted to talk. She was bound to listen, however dull, however inept his conversation. She remained quiet. Just as a wife should be with her husband, unobtrusive and gentle. Conforming and kind.

“Relax child. I do not bite.” He rubbed her hair through his thick fingers, assessing her. She stayed quiet and he kept playing with her hair. Finally, he spoke. “I wish to give a ball, a masquerade, in your honor my dear. Would that please you?”

“I am well schooled in dance, my lord.”

His face grew tart. “Yes, but what I asked. Would it please you?”

“If it pleases my lord, then yes.”

He shook his head. “Such a shame, such a waste, that a beauty like yours should have no backbone.”

She felt an unfamiliar flare. “I answer only how I was trained, my lord-husband. If this offends--”

“It does. I wish you to be honest, frank if you will, with me at all times.” She frowned. He laughed. “Humor an old man.”

She nodded, still supine. “Of course.”

He smiled at her. “You have done well, child. Just remember, tonight marked a very special night for you. For tonight you are my bride.”

She nodded. He stood, leaning on the mattress to brace himself. “Be well. Until the ball, then. I will have a dressmaker attend you.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Thank you, dear Sarah, for your innocence.”

* * *

 

Hidal the Red turned to his only child, a bastard son. “Jareth, bide your remarks. If you wish to remain in my kingdom without retribution, you will do as I command.”

“I am not fucking your child bride. Father.” Jareth mock bowed. He tapped his swagger stick against his muscular thigh, irritated but not surprised. His father was prone to commands, even outrageous ones.

Pacing, he was a flurry of raven-feather cape and crimson vest, strikingly beautiful, immodest and highly promiscuous. Perfect for his father’s needs. It was a shame he refused to do it.

“I must have an heir.”

Jareth raised an arched eyebrow, devoid of his court makeup. He never followed protocol, one of the reasons he was sure his father attempted to woo him with bait.

“An heir of my own blood.” Hidal frowned, throwing caution to the wind. “We both know you can never inherit my kingship. You are half human, and well known in the courts for your philandering and petty jealousies, besides.” He said, gruff, adding to the ire. “She is beautiful.”

“She is well trained, too, I imagine. Silly little chit, unable to say yes or no without permission.”

“Do you blame the girl? She was brought up to be a bride. I cannot give that to her.”

“Father, my lord, it is not my issue that you cannot consummate with your _beautiful_ wife.” His sarcasm was not missed.

“You will obey!” His father’s face flushed with his rage. He clutched at his chest, rubbing his arm momentarily and then calming. “Son. I need you.”

“And I need my position in the southern kingdom secured.” Jareth mused. “I want the whole Labyrinth. Promise me that and you will have a deal.”

His father glared. “What, and run you off into that horde of hideous creatures that reside there, the most insignificant yet dangerous kingdom? What use is it for you?”

“Power,” Jareth answered simply. “Power and I want it. Promise it to me, and I will break the seal on your child this very night.”

The old man’s face was shrewd. “Wait until she has been introduced at the ball I am giving her. Seduce her, woo her kindly, and then take her to bed.” The man smiled, “I promise you will have your Labyrinth and goblins if you do this thing for me.”

“A fortnight,” Jareth said, pausing and looking up the stairwell at the rooms he knew housed his step-mother. Sarah. “As you wish. It will be done.” He smiled, cocky. “Well, it seems I am to father my own brother. Imagine that.”

Hidal frowned. “Jareth.” The man turned at his name, mocking in a sneer. His father continued, undeterred. “Treat her well. She is a gentle soul.”

“Father, if there is anything I know, it is how to bed a woman. Gentle or not.”

  


_**A/N: Updates won’t be as frequent. I’ll try for every week, possibly every two, if my writing stalls.** _


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

  


“You look lovely, Wife.” Hidal stood before Sarah and lightly kissed her cheek. He smiled. “I have a gift for you, my dear.”

She peered inside the open casket of carved wood. “It’s exquisite.”

Emeralds, around a chain of sparkling silver. Worth a ransom. She viewed it with ambivalence; she preferred something a little more modest, and this was a gaudy jewel.

“A necklace fit for a queen.”

She obligingly pushed aside the few wayward strands of her upcast hair so he could place it around her. Father would be pleased; a gift so early in the marriage was surely a good sign. She fingered it. It would go into the trove of jewelry she rarely or never wore. But it was security, for what was given was hers for always.

“Do you like it?”

He waited for the appropriate answer. She gave it; a kiss upon the weathered cheek. Light and unaffected. He had been kind to her. It was more than she had hoped.

He grunted, seeing through her kiss. “It is not as suited to your beauty as I would imagine you’d like my dear, but these things as you know are necessary protocol.”

“I know.” The more he showered her with gifts, the more she would be accepted into society. The court would see she was favored, more than just a trophy in bed.

He lingered by her side, and he rested his hand upon her shoulder, a father to a favorite daughter. He had shown her more filial affection than her own father ever had. She smiled.

“I wish to introduce you to someone tonight, and I hope you will not be alarmed by the impropriety.”

She waited, patient for the explanation he was preparing himself to give. “It is my son. My only one thus far.” Her eyes widened. She knew this child was special, for a husband didn’t flaunt their previous escapades before their wife. It just wasn’t done, especially among the royals. She nodded.

“I wish you to treat him kindly, no matter what he may ask of you, my dear. Dance with him, enjoy yourself. If he wishes to escort you, let him.” He paused. “I ask you, plainly, to do this for me, my little one.”

She hooked her arm within her husband’s. “Of course, my lord.” Affection, freely given, for he was kind. Even in this unheard of precedent.

He grunted and flushed, lowering his voice. “Let him do as he pleases, my child, and you will be well compensated.”

A small frown touched her face. “Of course.”

“You don’t understand fully, and how could you?” he said, fond as he looked at her. “Dare me this whim, child, for an old man to his bride.”

She nodded, smiled. “Yes, my lord. Of course.”

He patted her cheek. “You are a good girl. I am pleased with it.”

He reached for her hand, tucking it between his forearm and elbow. “Let me escort you inside your ball, my dear. You are beauty itself, and I wish to show you off.”

* * *

 

Jareth drank down another large goblet of wine and handed it off to a servant. His fifth one, but who was counting? Damn his father and his mercenary ways. He rued having to go along with the charade, but his father knew what incited him, and by the Unknown, he wanted that kingdom. Even if he had to bed a stiff, cold and parroting doll. He grabbed another goblet, downing that one as well.

His friend, Alastair hovered near, a buxom redhead on his arm. “Slow it, Stud. Or you won’t be able to do anything at all tonight.”

Jareth glared. Defiantly reaching for yet another goblet. “Functioning has never been an issue, and won’t be now, either, you devil’s son.” He spat at his best friend, who laughed and led his partner into the next dance. Now that was a woman worth his kingdom, Jareth mused, eyeing the redhead with relish. Maybe another time, for she was clearly willing.

He stood next to a stone pillar, taking each opportunity that arose to flirt and cavort with any woman that passed his way. He knew he shouldn’t be at a function like this; his father ruled outside the norm, however, and Jareth had to attend more often than not these large socials.

The lady of the evening had not arrived yet upon his father’s arm. Then he saw her, dressed in a gown of citrine and her hair pulled back from a sensitive looking face. She was beautiful, as his father described. She didn’t wear a mask; there was no need. The ball was in her honor, after all.

A hideous necklace bound around her slender neck. Jareth scoffed. So, she had been branded already. His father led her around the ballroom and introduced her with a proud smile on his face. The old man looked besotted. Disgusting.

Jareth snapped his fingers to a serving wench. “Bring another.”

He lavished his brilliant and seductive smile on the woman as she drew near. Maybe he would choose her for later tonight, or maybe both women he had recently spoken to. He grinned. He wouldn’t be beholden to any female; he rather liked his reclusive bachelor life. It was rarely boring and he never had to choose the same woman twice.

His father spied him from across the room, giving him a warning look. Jareth took a long swig and put the goblet down on the floor. He adjusted his waistcoat. Time for the show.

* * *

 

Dancers weaved in and out. Step, hop, turn. The mazurka was lively and in triple time moves, so Sarah had to concentrate slightly not to get out of alignment. Her husband didn’t dance the fast ones, he said, and she was currently partnered by a medium height, ugly to the point of beauty, man named Alastair. He gripped her securely, hands braced, not missing a single beat. He smiled down at her, and she complied to return it.

Step, hop, turn. Change partners. Step, hop, turn.

She was laughing and flushed by the time the dance ended. Her partner bowed. A slow dance set started and Sarah looked for her husband. He was standing against the wall, conversing with a blond haired man, similar in height but with an ethereal beauty that was unparalleled, even in the Underground. Her husband lifted his arm and bade her come over.

Her partner offered to escort her. She took his forearm and threaded through the crowd. He paused before her husband, offering a bow.

“Your Majesty.” He had a light, teasing voice. Her husband looked at him with disapproval.

“Lord Drem.”

Her husband ignored her dance partner after that, turning to the man by his side and gesturing. “My dear,” he said to Sarah. “I wish you to meet Jareth Atar, future Goblin King and Lord of the Labyrinth.” He paused. “My son.”

She inclined her head, acknowledging him. She refused to blink at the impropriety of meeting the man. She gave her hand for the young lord to kiss.

The man skimmed her knuckles with his warm mouth. His palm trembled a little as he grasped her lightly. Her eyes flicked up.

She startled, her gaze taken by his unusual eyes, one largely dilated with a soft ring of color, the other pure icy blue. He grinned at her observance. Leaning forward, too close, he whispered into her ear.

“It’s part of having a human mother. Different, aren’t they?”

She shrugged, unwilling to be rude but not caring for the man. Jareth. He gave her an uneasy feeling, and she couldn’t erase the fluster he had created just by leaning into her.

Her husband smiled at her. “Well, my dear, now that you two are acquainted, I’m going to retire for the evening. Let my son escort you the rest of the night if you please.”

She nodded, wanting to refuse but compelled to obey. Her husband said, in one last parting instruction, “Remember, my child, what we talked about the other evening.”

She smiled, false. “Yes, my lord.” She had to listen to this man before her, no matter what he demanded. Her husband commanded it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

  


Jareth inwardly groaned. What a meek one she was. Having to endure her presence and her company, let alone bed her, would be exhausting. Well, he inwardly grinned, maybe not the part about bedding her; she was a pretty woman. Beautiful, even. His father had an eye for such things, an inherited predisposition. He stifled his qualm about seducing her. His goal was, as always, the kingship. That was what mattered.

His head swam. Of all the nights for the liquor to affect him. Well, he could still do what he had to do; it was his damned morality that called into question. He had never been one to rape a woman. Seducing came too easy; he feared this one would prove an obstacle to him, however. _The kingship, the kingship._ It lured and intoxicated him, more so than the peach wine. He would comply with his father’s—his king’s, decree; damn his regrets.

He marched over to where she stood, hovering in a corner like the scared kitten she was. He decided to tease her; the pretty wretch was so uptight. “Well, Mother, care to dance?”

“I must decline, _Son,_ ” she said, soft even in her refusal, taking away the hand he had grabbed. “I am tired.”

She turned her back on him. On him! He found it enthralling, humbling, and a little raw. How dare she? She was nothing but an untouched maid, and he, he was the pinnacle of manhood. She should be begging him to teach her.

He tapped her shoulder. Oh, but his head hurt.

She looked over at him, frustration and fear mixing. Jareth felt that twinge of regret again. Such an innocent. He hated to harm her.

“A pity,” he said, drawing her confusion to the surface. Her brows furrowed. “That you wouldn’t give me the honor.”

She gave a little sigh. “I fear that my last dance partner stepped over my toes. I am mending.”

He bowed. “Then if I may, I will get you some refreshment.” He had little opportunity to find a woman that wasn’t enamored of him; it was a delightful change, but one he would rectify. And like all the others, he would win her and forget about her. Never looking back once.

She started to protest, but he was already walking away, looking for that delicious serving maid. Where he failed with the one, he would certainly succeed with the other.

He found her, backed into a corner with Alastair. Jareth interrupted, not caring of the woman’s exposed thighs. In fact, he rather enjoyed viewing them, round, dimpled and curvy. But there was time for enjoyment later, perhaps with one not so used; he needed to speak with his friend. The woman scuttled away at Jareth’s imperious stare, leaving him alone to speak with Alastair.

“How did you find her?” he asked, looking down at his shorter friend.

Alastair answered, a grin on his face. “She is absolutely delightful. Never once did she trip over my feet.”

Jareth arched an eyebrow. “That is not to what I refer. Did you glean any information from her?”

“Not a thing. She’s tight-lipped.”

“Good. So this debacle won’t travel throughout the court. My father chose well on that account.”

Alastair narrowed his gaze. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I have little choice. I want that Labyrinth. It’s past time I had a kingdom of my own.”

“You are fortunate you weren’t butchered upon birth, my friend. Half-human, and a bastard, besides. Things may have changed in the Underground since you were born, but you are still an anomaly here.”

Jareth pretended to ignore him. He knew what he was; he had been reminded of it his entire life. Less than. Not worthy. The hazards of growing up in the royal court with nothing but a cursory title made him mock the new standard of bringing in human wives for the elite. He had suffered, and suffered, and suffered. Now it came back to haunt him.

“Well,” he said, assuming nonchalance. “I would like to think I have the best of both my parents. I age well, die old and have a measure of power.”

“That,” said Alastair, “Is the reason you are so dangerous. Step easy, my friend. There are those that would take you down.”

Jareth shrugged. “I care not what others think.” He grabbed a goblet of wine. Peach, his favorite. “I must go back to my step-mother.” He grinned, bestial and fierce. “I made my vow, and my word is my honor.”

“Damn your precious nobility, Jareth. You could get killed over this. I’m not sure your father isn’t up to something.”

“Perhaps. But if so, I have lived a good life so far.”

They bowed to the other. Both were lesser lords. Both scraped by in the elitist society. Childhood friends, rivals. Brothers of a bond.

* * *

  


Sarah avoided the blond man as she danced. Twirling, palms joined, she found that she enjoyed herself without a man to hover over her. So this, she thought, is what it felt like to be an independent woman. However much a chimera it proved to be.

“You are recovered.” Her step-son found her, breaking in and taking her partner’s place.

“I was.” She made the reproof sound sweet.

“Tart. Like a luscious fruit. Do you like peaches?” Jareth silkily intoned. He leaned over her, brushing his mouth near her ear. “I brought you some wine.”

“I tolerate them,” making the words a lie. She ignored the goblet in his hand.

He threw back his head and laughed. She flushed. “What is so funny, my lord?” she asked.

“I rather thought a little bird had caught your tongue. I am glad to see it is still intact.” He smiled as if wickedly enjoying her repartee.

“I didn’t give you permission to speak so freely.” Stiff, unsure. He broke every protocol she had learned to come Underground. Keep one’s hands to oneself. Never dance with another husband’s wife. Allow space between bodies during discourse. He flagrantly flaunted his cynicism.

“Ah,” he said, leaning in again. “But your husband did.”

Sarah leaned back, observing him. “Look,” she said. “I don’t think I like you, and I know you can hardly care for me. Let’s pretend we don’t know each other for the rest of the evening and be done with it.”

His eyes narrowed. The gauntlet had been thrown. “Oh, but my dear. I do like you. Very much.” She flinched as he touched her elbow. “I intend to get to know you better, even before this night is through.”

She ripped her arm away, ignoring the gasps that came from those nearest her. She flushed; her husband wouldn’t be pleased. She watched as the man opposite her grinned. He had taken no qualm to her outburst; in fact, he seemed to relish her obstinence.

“It seems you make quite the scene, my dear,” he said, smiling wolfishly. “Come. Let’s dance and make merry.” He grinned winningly.

“I can’t leave you on the dance floor, and I refuse to disobey my lord-husband,” Sarah said, her body stiff and tight. “But don’t pretend that we can ever be friends. I know what kind of reputation you have. I see it’s well deserved.”

He took her back into his arms, holding her firm. Polite in his distance. He eyed her speculatively. “I am not as bad as all that.”

She clucked her tongue, unappreciative of his backing down. Types like him never stayed away for long. Her father had warned her of wolves, and this was one in sheep’s clothing. Beautiful. Deceitful. And powerfully alluring. She stiffened further.

He looked down his sharp nose at her. “Careful, or you’ll break.”

“Excuse me?”

“You stand any more rigid, you’ll break.” He observed her. “Like porcelain, you are.”

She snapped back at him, not caring for his persistence. “The funny thing about porcelain, my lord. It can withstand a burning hot fire, the scorch making it firm.” She paused, making her point. “So, not so fragile, after all.”

The dance ended. He released her. Bowed. And retreated, for the moment. She ignored his wonderous glance as she walked away, unescorted. Ill-bred cur.

* * *

  


Jareth stalked to the sidelines, grabbing another goblet of the peach wine. He took one sip, then gave it back to a server. His friend, standing and watching his defeat with interest, commented blandly.

“Not going so well, hmm?” Alastair grinned.

“You can wipe that smirk off your face,” Jareth said, crossing his arms and looking like a petulant child. “I will win her over, yet.”

“Maybe you can try by being yourself, and not the man you pretend to be.”

“I have a kingdom to conquer. One little woman is not going to stop me.” Jareth ignored his friend’s comment.

Alastair snorted. “I see it’s going over really well, the dashing side of you.”

“I’ve never been resisted before. She will beg to curry favor with me before this is through.”

“You know, Jareth, you can be an ass. Why not tell her the truth?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Truth? I would rather beg from a mongrel than reveal any intimate detail about me to that chit.”

Alastair chuckled. “She’s gotten to you, my friend. Mark my words, you will fail. And what harm is it, anyway, to settle as a lord in your father’s vast kingdom?”

Jareth didn’t bat an eye at the taunt. “Lord? I am made to be king. I deserve that much, after what I’ve been through.”

His friend handed him another goblet. “Drink up, _King_ Jareth of Atar.” The words hung like crystal stars in a blackened night. “I think you’re going to need it.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

  


“How was your evening, young one?” Her husband eyed a heaping plate of food; his question, polite. Curious in his intensity.

Sarah sipped at her water, trying to skirt the issue. She knew what he referred, but she was not stupid, to admit she had blatantly disobeyed her husband. “Interesting, my lord.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I got an instant migraine the moment you left.” Her tone was coy.

“But you enjoyed yourself?” She nodded. He continued. “And how did you find my son? Delightful, isn’t he?”

She held back a choke. “He, also, is interesting.”

His eyes narrowed responsively. “So, my dear. Anything eventful happen?”

“No. I danced. I stayed only a little while longer, and then retired for the night.”

Hidal the Red gave a heaving sigh. “I am sorry to hear that you weren’t feeling well. It was your ball, after all.”

“I enjoyed the dancing.”

“So you have alluded.”

He ate with gusto, his questioning finished for the moment. She picked at her plate. She did have a headache, more so than the night before. And her headache’s name was Jareth of Atar. A shame, that she would have to run into him again before the day was through. Her husband wanted to go riding and had invited his son along with them. It seemed she couldn’t avoid the man.

Back in her room, her maid Lilith prattled about her new riding outfit, shamrock green and lined with gold velvet. Rich, luxurious, made to wear once and then discard. Such a shame it had such wasteful materials for the costume; Sarah had never been one to cast aside useful clothing.

“Such a beauty you are, your Majesty,” Lilith said. There was very little coy and prompted propriety between them; she had been raised to serve Sarah since they were very small and had little boundary. She smiled, her teeth hidden behind a devious and knowing smile. “And how are you enjoying married life?”

Sarah reached for her ivory-handled brush. “It is better than I expected.”

“His Majesty is easy on you. It is fortunate you have a kind man for a husband.” Lilith narrowed her eyes, watching. “A shame he is not as prolific as we imagined.”

Sarah sat down her brush. “What do you mean?”

Her maid laughed. “There is little that servants do not know.” She took up the brush and started on Sarah’s long hair. “You have still not tasted the joys of the marriage bed. We all know it.”

Sarah flinched. “What are you talking about? I had my wedding night.”

“You did. An uneventful one, I am told.” Sarah frowned. Her maid continued in explanation. “You still have your virgin status.”

“No, that’s not true.” Sarah shook her head. “I did as you said. I laid there, he visited me, and...touched me. I am married.”

Lilith sighed. “Such innocence. I rue that you had to stay so. There are so many delightful pleasures of the flesh, but you are surely denied it until you have been broken.”

Sarah flushed. “I did as was bade me. What is this talk?”

“You have not been truly married, as yet. Your Highness, you haven’t had it consummated.” Plain talk, unappreciated. “Enough talk. You are angry, and rightly so. I shouldn’t speak of such things.”

“We have always been honest with each other. You are my only true friend, Lil.”

“I know. Another shame.” She changed the subject. “I heard you met the bastard son. He is the talk of the courts, and so very luscious, is he not?”

Sarah paused in thought, paradox running ramrod. Beautiful, yes. Disturbing, also. She shrugged. “He is interesting.”

“Come.” Lilith laughed. “You must imagine what he is like in bed.” She paused. “I do. Those wonderful thighs, that jawline.” She grunted. “But he hates to share and refuses to do so. I can’t recall a single time he has ever been with one of his father’s servants. A shame.”

“Lil!” Sarah laughed, uncomfortable. “You know I do not think of those things. He is my son, or by name, he is.”

“Well,” the maid said, “I would be one bad mother, then, for what I am thinking.” She laughed a bawdy chuckle.

Sarah smirked. “I danced with him. He is a pleasant partner.”

“So...he can maneuver, you say?”

Sarah laughed. “Lil, you are too much. All you think about--”

“It’s worth thinking about. Again,” she looked at Sarah pointedly. “A shame.”

Sarah stood, smoothing her skirts. “I will be sure to remove that image from my mind today, as we are all going riding together this afternoon.”

Lilith brightened. “Really.” She looked Sarah up and down. “Then I will add a touch of rouge to your lips. It’s never too late to accentuate the positives.”

* * *

 

There were four in their entourage: Hidal, her husband; Alastair, Lord Drem; Jareth of Atar, and Sarah, riding his Majesties’ best horses. Her husband denied having his groomsmen ride along. He prided himself on his mount and refused servants while he rode. Sarah had recently learned horseback riding, as it was a prerequisite for marriage. She struggled to look complacent and bored, her back too stiff and her lines tight. She had little experience, even in this.

What Lilith said reverberated through her mind, busy bees in a swarm, scattered and erratic. Untouched. A virgin. What use was she if she couldn’t be a proper wife? She stole a glance over to her husband. He caught her gaze and smiled. So very kind. She had been fortunate to be wed to such a man.

The forest hushed as they rode through, birds leaving their roosts and wild animals bolting off into the distance as they came past. It was dark, molten colors of orange and browns, the leaf of life masked in the black canopy.

The Dark Forest, home of the Forgotten, land of the Lost. No one lived within its confines. None that would admit allegiance to the king, anyway. There were rumors that rebels lived deep in the woods, unbidden to anyone. But if the king felt fear by them, he didn’t let on, and neither did the other men. They talked conversationally, few words, but enough to ward off intruders.

Hidal suddenly reached for her reins. The men had stopped talking, each in silence like the forest around them. Her horse paused.

“Go with Jareth, Sarah,” her husband said, soft. She frowned, a questioning within her raised eyebrows. He handed the reins to his son. “Go.” He repeated the command, urgent.

Without hesitancy, the other man took her reins, gathering them in his gloved palms. She shot a glare at him.

“I can ride on my own.” She whispered so that her husband wouldn’t hear, reprimanding her for her disobedience.

“No.” He added, after a pause, “It’s better if we go fast, and you aren’t expert enough for a run.”

“Listen to Jareth, Sarah, and take care.” Hidal gave a fond glance. He gestured to Lord Drem, who nodded.

Jareth instructed, “Hold on to the pommel, and don’t let go.”

She obeyed. But not because she wanted to; the horse was already off to a canter, and correctly, the speed was something she couldn’t handle. In moments, the horses were running, deeper into the forest.

“Where are we going?” she said, shouting as the trees and shrubs blurred around them, the horses sweating from exertion.

“Quiet.” The blond man grimaced, then answered, ignoring his own advice. “The king’s lodge. It’s over a mile from here. It’ll be safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“I said, quiet.”

Sarah gripped the pommel tighter, as much from anger as from fear. She knew what the lodge was. A refuge in distress. They were escaping something, something terrible and beyond the capabilities of three armed men. Her face blanched.

“You’ll be okay. I’ll protect you.”

She hissed, “I thought you said to be quiet.”

“That was because I don’t want to hear you caterwaul over our destination. We are almost there, and away from danger.”

“What about--”

“My father will be fine. He is an expert huntsman.”

“Better than you, I am assuming.”

A tilted eyebrow raised further. “No one in this kingdom is better a huntsman than I. Now hush.”

“You are a beast.” She spat at him, her words harsh.

“I will be no better than a beast if you continue to disobey me.” They slowed to a calmer pace and he eyed her, his gaze bland.

Then, without further provocation, he reached out his arm and wrapped it around her waist, dragging her in front of him on his saddle. She squirmed, outraged.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting very bothered by you. Stop moving.”

He took one arm and secured it tighter around her body. The other let go of the reins of her horse, smacking the rump of the animal, sending it away.

“Don’t! I need her.”

“You need to shut up. I won’t repeat it again, and should I have to, you will see how very bothered by you I am.” He muttered, his tone peeved, “You should be thankful they haven’t caught up with us the way you ride that horse.”

She pressed her lips tight. The pummel dug into her belly and his chest into her back. Suddenly she reckoned why Lilith had been so impressed by the man, the evidence of him snuggled against her body. She flushed, realizing she would have to be very wary of the man, as he found no difficulty in bringing her close.

She gripped the riding horn that poked her. She shuddered. Rain was starting to fall on them, a slight patter and then more insistent. She chilled as her dress stuck to her body, her legs exposed from mid-thigh down.

She tossed back over her shoulder, “We are nearly there, aren’t we?”

“Almost. Come, it’s not so bad, riding with me is it?” he teased.

She grunted, biting her tongue from telling him just what she thought of the close proximity. He broke his own rules about talking. She wished she had a riding crop similar as to what he carried so that she could sting him where his legs brushed hers. She felt discomfort, and not all of it came from the rough way they rode through the woods.

They broke through the bramble and the trees, and in the small clearing, a cottage built of stone and wood, with a slate roof. The king’s hunting lodge: a place of privacy, refuge, and being forgotten.

She flinched as Jareth slid off the horse and reached for her waist. “Come into my arms,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

She ignored his watchful eyes as she struggled to remain ladylike and avoid his touch. “I can do it.” She swung her leg over the wide back of the black horse and hovered for a moment.

“He’s rather tall. Are you sure?”

“I can do it, I said.”

He held his hands up in acquiescence. “Okay, fine. Fall.”

She gritted her teeth, her jaw tight. Falling is the last thing she would do. Hit him with pleasure, more likely. She leaped to the ground, stumbling back as her feet touched the sodden grass. She hid a squeal of triumph and pain. The horse had been tall; he was right.

He tied the horse to a nearby tree after removing its saddle and took her arm, leading her to the door of the cottage. He swung the door open, nearly pushing her in, and then the door shut behind them with a bang.

Closed in, with Jareth of Atar. Sarah couldn’t think of a worse fate.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

She paced and he growled once again as she went to the window and peered out. “How long do we have to be here?” she asked.

“Until I say so.”

“That’s a stupid answer.” She folded her arms tight. He ignored her. She looked out as if the night would save her. “It’s dark.”

“So it would seem.” He made no attempt to disguise his sarcasm.

“And this shirt--” She lifted the shirt he had taken off his back and let her change into. “Is still wet,” she continued. Pouting. Childish and insistent.

“You don’t say.” Jareth eyed her petulance with amusement. “I imagine it’s a whole lot less wet than that rag you call a dress that’s draped across the back of my chair.”

She snarled. “That rag, as you call it, used to be wearable. You dragged me here in the pouring rain. What was I supposed to do with it?”

“Well, seeing even as of how you let me unfasten you from said dress as you tossed it aside in that haphazard and very careless manner, the point seems moot don’t you think, your Highness?”

She cringed at the reminder of him untying her laces, his fingers hovering and nearly touching her skin. “Don’t call me that,” she said, her manner tart.

“Would you prefer Mother?”

“No, I would not.” She acidly replied. “And you were much nicer the last time we met, at the ball.”

He grinned, wolfish. “So I was.”

He ran his eyes over her figure, where she was trying to conceal herself to no avail in his white shirt that touched her thighs. She tugged it down.

He shrugged. “It appears things have changed since our last meeting. Now I am in charge of your welfare, and admittedly, I’m not pleased with the notion.”

She snapped. “Well, then rest assured, you can release me from that obligation. I’ll simply take your horse and remove myself from your presence.”

He stood from where he had leaned his chair in a reposing fashion, against the far wall. “If you will, perhaps you will listen to what is going on in that black darkness outside. I think you will change your mind about leaving.”

That startled her. “Why? What is going on?”

He took one finger and placed it to his nose, tapping it with irony. “Listen.”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Precisely. It’s far too quiet.”

She shook her head, obstinate. “It’s night. It’s supposed to be quiet.”

His sudden harshness took her back. “Do you hear the horse?”

Her reply was slow. “No.”

Jareth circled her, a prowling animal. “No. And you won’t. It’s gone.”

“I saw you tie it--”

He cut her off, harsh. “It’s gone.” His eyes glared. “It’s dead, my Queen, and you would be dead too if you were not in here with me.”

She shook her head, refusing his words. He continued, his words meticulous and sharp. “It’s dead, its blood spilled, a sacrifice for your life.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will if we are trapped here long enough.” His body shrouded her space. “This is the Dark Forest, Land of the Lost.” He sneered. “Do you really think you can be in here without paying some token to the land?”

She sputtered, disbelieving that such cruelty could come from a place so hauntingly beautiful. “The horse is my token?”

“Its blood is your token,” he reminded her. “Be thankful I left it where the inhabitants could redeem your cost.”

She shuddered. “What about you? Did they take a token for you, too?”

His grin was wide, unearthly. “I am part of the land.” He drew closer. “Part of the Forest. They know its own, and reply in kind.”

“I don’t understand.” She backed up against the wall where he crowded her, her words a cautious repeat.

Jareth gave one final dark grin, then backed up and away. “You will.”

His absence haunted, worse than his ominous words, his presence signifying her safety. And that scared her more than his threat.

* * *

 

Sarah had fallen into a restless sleep, her head propped against the stone wall and her body awkwardly slumped. She awoke with a crick in her neck, and she stretched painfully.

“Comfortable night?” Jareth looked rested, his body limber and loose as he questioned her with verve.

“Undoubtedly.” She stood, trying to hide her stiffened joints.

He laughed, but it wasn’t mirthful. “You needn’t try to hide it from me. I know too well how people respond to being here.” He added, “Near me.”

“You don’t have to act so happy about my pain,” she said, her tone sharp. “Misery isn’t something I beg for.”

“Misery?” He was a beast again, watching, ready to devour his prey. “Surely it’s not as bad as all that.”

She turned to him. “It’s worse.”

He laughed, and it was genuine this time. “You are not a morning person. How delightful to discover your flaw.”

“I have many.”

“None that I have observed.” His voice was coy. Seductive and rough.

She avoided his thin bodied frame, going to the fireplace, lit, and roaring. “Apparently,” she said, copying his impertinence, “There is time.”

He came up behind her, not touching, but close enough to make her cringe. From what she couldn’t say.

“You’re cold.”

She ignored the soothe in his tone. She shrugged, but her hands rubbed the chill from her upper arms.

“Not much.”

He chuckled, his words obtuse. “How much I enjoy the sharpened claws, rather than the meek mouse.”

Sarah was not stupid. She had been around demanding, arrogant and licentious men before. If she could not survive in court, she would not have been wed to a king. Wed. She reminded herself to embrace her fidelity. It would save her, and keep her from a beast’s hungry paws.

She turned, furthering the space between her stepson and herself. “If you want claws, I will show them. Don’t underestimate me.”

He smiled. “Never.”

She copied his smile, insincere and wanting. “Then we understand each other.”

“I have never doubted that we did.”

Like a caged wild one, Sarah edged the wall. Her back embraced it, caressed it. His casual remark didn’t pacify her. Instead, it was a winding cobra, released from its basket and ready to plunge.

Dance, dance. Lilting waltz, playing with fire and emotion. He knew his consequence, and she knew hers. Turn or be burned. Turn or be damned.

* * *

 

They sat and stared at each other, both mistrusting, both wanting to speak but neither caving. Give an inch, the other would steal a mile. False smiles and patently unreal mellowness masked their faces. It was when Sarah’s stomach growled for the fifth time that she condescended to talk.

“You’re impossible,” she said, hardly a truce. She paused, hopeful. “And I’m hungry.”

“So it would seem,” he said, cheerful. “But is that any way to talk to the man that is going to wait hand and foot to deliver refreshment and feed you?”

“You have food?”

“As a man of these forests, I have been trained to be self-sufficient. Which I can hardly claim for you.”

Her stomach insisted its hunger once more. She rubbed at it. It had been since breakfast the previous morning that she had last eaten, and she had always managed a schedule before.

“So what do we do?” she said.

“Do? You do nothing, which I am sure is all you are capable of.” He bantered but his words were grossly sincere. “Being trained for royalty has its apparent setbacks, you know.”

She muttered. “I wasn’t always trained.”

He laughed. “Well, you certainly fell into it, then. Marrying a king, no less.”

“It’s the last thing I wanted.” She added, realizing how ungrateful her words appeared, “But I was blessed with a good husband.”

Jareth stood, wiping nonexistent dirt from his snug trousers. He clapped his hands together, making her startle.

“So you were, but he can’t help you at the moment. I will just have to do.”

She stood tentatively, tugging at the shirt that hugged her upper legs. “So what are you making?”

“The cabinets are full of supplies and they can last about two months, I imagine, so no need to worry about that. No meat for now except what has been dried and preserved. I can go hunting later.”

“You think we will be here that long?” Horrified.

“What? Am I such bad company?” Mock dismay.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

An eyebrow arched. He still wore the markings of court, of his station therein. None of it had smeared through the night, and Sarah knew she was the ragged looking one with her mussed hair and stale mouth. She also had to use the restroom, and as she had not explored the rooms of the lodge, she was unsure one was even provided.

Jareth mocked her little dance, her discomfort becoming more obvious as time elapsed. He went to the hallway, opened a door and pointed inside.

“Come, refresh yourself. You are looking childishly desperate.”

She darted across the passageway and within the room without further ado. She slammed the heavy wooden door behind her, bolting it tight. She heard the laughter outside and she cringed, trying to be as silent as possible. She found a cloth to wash her face, soaps and a toothbrush. She contained her squeal of delight. Taking her time to clean up, she heard rustling out in the kitchen and then later, the smell of cooking.

She wished she had her dress, however ruined it may be. Wearing her stepson’s shirt made it so that he had to remain bare-chested. She avoided looking at his bare skin, but she knew from a small glance he was pale and lithely muscular.

Cracking open the door she stood uncertain for a moment but he waved her over, directing her to a table that had been given two place settings. He held a full to the brim cast iron skillet in his gloved palm.

She sat, watching him move efficiently through the small space. “I thought your people were allergic to iron. That it’s poison or something.”

Small talk. He laughed. “I’m half human, remember? It doesn’t affect me, to the chagrin of most of my peers.”

She continued. “Your mother, right?”

He stared at her a moment, gauging her sincerity with the question. “Right.”

She took a tentative bite of the steaming hot food he dished into her plate. Unidentifiable, but surely edible. She nodded her thanks.

“Why did my husband marry me instead of her?” She could have cut off her tongue with the impertinent asking.

He became silent, his face turning like stone within the instant. “That’s really none of your business, is it?”

No, it wasn’t, and she knew she had gravely overstepped their unspoken truce. She lowered her head, sheepish.

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded, once, quick. “Forgiven.”

She hadn’t been, obvious by his stern demeanor. She took another bite, washing down her guilt.

Sarah had long learned that to survive in life, one had to play peacemaker, something she had forgotten as she interacted with her new stepson. She pointed to her plate, trying to pretend interest.

“This is delicious. What is it?”

“Beef brain.”

She almost spat out her bite, to the delight of the man across from her. He laughed naughtily.

“No, it’s not,” he admitted, “But do you really want to know?”

“Now I don’t.”

He winked at her, still mischievous. “If you like it, don’t wonder so much.” He took a giant bite, chewing and then swallowing before he took another. “The cabinet supplies are highly stocked, as I mentioned, but I will still need to supplement it,” he paused, “To fund your imperial tastes.” He eyed her, poking and prodding at the meal that initially had seemed so palatable.

She nodded, restless. “When do you think we can go back?”

“In a hurry to leave? Don’t be,” he said. “I have to receive word from your husband, or at the very least Lord Drem, that all is clear.”

She said in a hush, “What happened? Why did we run?”

He weighed his words. “My father is a difficult man. Doubtful you have been exposed to that side of him as yet.” She acquiesced with a nod. “There are those in the Dark Forest that would have another as their king.”

She said, soft, “You?”

He stared at her, not answering at first. “Perhaps.”

“Why wouldn’t you be, in time?”

He spat out, his elaborately marked eyebrows raised in outcry, “That would mean that I have to be acknowledged as the King’s son. That will never happen.”

“Why? Everyone knows you are.”

He snorted. “Yes, but what good does that do when I am scorned by the court? Worthless in all of their eyes.” He brushed back the hair that hung long over his shoulders. He had taken it down from the customary ponytail she noted he usually wore.

Shrugging, he took another bite of his food, contemplative and wary. “Bury this talk. Knowing of my difficulties will not serve you.”

“I am Queen.” She tried regality. She failed.

He stared at her. “So you are. I will try not to forget.”

He looked away and she was unable to catch his gaze again. It was a relief and a pardon.

*****


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

  
There was one bed. Draped with curtains and with heavy coverlets, this is where Jareth had spent his first night in the lodge while Sarah found the floor. She eyed him with rueful dismay.

  
“There is a bed and you didn’t tell me?”

  
He smirked. “I can’t be found fault if you don’t take note of your surroundings. If you had only opened the door--”

  
“Never mind. I’ll be using it from here out.”

  
He grinned. “So will I.”

  
She snapped back. “No. You will not.” Imagining him curled up around her sent chills down her spine, and she wasn’t sure it was all of a bad sort.

  
He edged near her, silent seduction, soothing, preying. Difficult to rationalize against him. He was persuasive, but she was strong. She would never concede to him; she refused. She knew he was a lech. His reputation seemed to be hard earned. And he did nothing to refute it.

  
She asked him, curious despite herself. “Have you always been this way?”

  
He grinned at her tone, passing a slender hand across his unshaven jawline. “And how is that?”

  
She waved a hand in the air absently. “You know. With women?”

  
His face darkened as if she had vitally wounded him. “I have never done anything unasked for.” His defiance sounded hurt.

  
“I never said you did.”

  
He sighed. “Yet it is unasked for with you. My lady, how you wound the very essence of me.” He cavorted with playful dissidence.

  
She said, lightly and without retribution, “It will always be unasked for.”

  
Suddenly she wasn’t sure of how their conversation was going. It had slid away from her comfortable questioning to bite back at her. Little love nips that bruised and reminded.

  
Sarah stood. Her gaze avoided his. He still had a half-glare on his face.

  
“I’m sure my dress is completely dry by now. Excuse me while I change.”

  
He nodded, his face serious. Pale and quiet. He, also, stood. “Call me if you need me.”

  
She frowned. He added, “For the laces. They are in the back.”

  
She answered, soft. “I will be fine.”

  
His troubled words echoed and craved. Initials burned into skin. Pain and illusion. Where nothing was real or what it seemed; they fabricated between the other. Full of ploy, full of deceit. Their dance continued, sputtered, ended within a standstill. Each on a precipice, and neither willing to concede the fall.

  
She tiptoed into the bathroom. Closed the door and leaned against it. She sucked in a deep breath. Days, weeks, more than a month of time in each other’s company; it seemed too much. She would destroy or be destroyed in that amount of time. She hoped and prayed her husband would send word. Quickly, before she descending into a stark kind of madness, being near the blond seducer for too long.

  
He would make intolerant even the most patient of persons.

  
The velvet of her gown had become limp and raggedy looking, its color washed out from the moisture of the cool rain. It had never been her favorite dress, its permanence never a fail safe, meant to wear the once and remind everyone of her husband’s riches and benevolence towards her.

  
She attempted, her retribution, to fold Jareth’s shirt into a neat pattern, instead turning it into a linen shaped ball. She uncrumpled it and tried again. Then she cursed herself. Why bother? He was the vain man that had annoyed her since she met him. She shouldn’t care how she left the clothing. She poked her head out the door, the shirt cradled from one forefinger in a precarious fashion.

  
Jareth took long strides to meet her, grabbing his shirt from her hand, tugging it on. “What, am I so unworthy that you intend to drop it onto the floor?”

  
Defiance. “I folded it.” She amended, “Well, I tried.”

  
He stared at her, a quizzical slant of his brows. He had washed off the paint. He looked better for it, as it didn’t suit him, she realized. He was less intimidating with no markings, his face pale but admittedly handsome.

  
“Have you received word?” she asked.

  
“Impatient?” he said, smiling falsely.

  
“Perhaps. Aren’t you?”

  
He bit out, “I am now.”

  
She gave a heaving sigh. “Let’s not fight, Jareth. It will be so much easier for us both if we can just get along.”

  
He bowed, facetious and coy. “Indeed, you are right, my Queen.”

  
“I thought I mentioned that I didn’t like when you called me that.”

  
“You have the title. I’m sure you will earn it.” He paused, significantly. “Eventually.”

  
She snapped out a reply. “Fine. I can follow your suit. Let us quarrel. I’m sure we will be better for it.”

  
He smiled, easier in his approach. “There are those claws, again. How I do prefer them.”

  
She shook her head, not understanding his rationality. “You are not a usual man, Jareth of Atar.”

  
“I surely hope not.”

  
He pulled at his shirt’s wrists, tugging the lace down about his fingers. He had only buttoned up to mid-chest, one small brown nipple poking out as if it were shy. Sarah turned her head away, shy herself. He had seemed less aggressively naked when he had his shirt removed. The unbuttoned shirt teased sexuality, and she vehemently denied it.

  
He was talking again, and looking at her with bemusement. “Whist?”

  
“I’m sorry?”

  
“Whist? Do you play?” He held up a pack of decorated cards in his palm that he had pulled out from seemingly nowhere.

  
She shook her head. “No. But I am familiar with the card game of Spades.”

  
He smiled. “It is very similar. Come, I will teach you.” He beckoned to the table, cleared of their luncheon.

  
Within the hour, she had won every single hand. She slapped down her final trump. “I win again!”

  
He muscled his jaw. “I am not used to losing.” His head shook in mute outcry. “No one ever beats me.”

  
Sarah reached out and grabbed the cards to shuffle them. “Why, my lord? Is it because a man like you finds ways to win?”

  
He growled, his face going ominously dark. “You should be very careful of what you accuse,” he bit out. “I have killed lesser men for their insidious comments to me.”

  
He meant it. His fists had tightened, his jaw a firm line of mutiny.

  
Killed? She gulped and stammered out an apology.

  
“I’m sorry. I was only trying to torment you as you have me.”

  
He swallowed, not looking at her. His voice was a dangerous mellow. “It is fortunate you are a woman.”

  
Their fingers met and brushed in mere coincidence, pinkie to forefinger, absolution and pain intermixed. She pulled away, not wanting contact after her flawed remarks. Her words stung her; she knew they had stung him worse, her unruly tongue betraying her again. Her fingers itched the deck, cards splayed in the grip of her half open palm. He halted her movement. His hand, unlike his words, were gentle.

  
“Stop. I know now that you were being facetious. I am the one who is sorry.” He softened his words. “Deal again. We will play another hand.”

  
Sarah’s head was bent. Tears blurred, as much from the indignity of being chastised as her folly. “I am not sure I am up to it.”

  
“Humor me, Sarah.”

  
She bit back an inhale. Her name; he had not yet called her by so. She found the syllables a delightful rasp upon his tongue. Her eyes darted away again.

  
She stood in a hurry, her legs tangling amongst her long skirt. “I’m sorry. I can’t. Not right now.”

  
“What is wrong?” He managed to sound wounded. And his rough purr, decadent.

  
“Nothing.” She pulled away. “Nothing at all.”

  
Foolish. She was so foolish. How could she view him as anything but the enemy? He had proved himself a beast the first time he met her. He would ruin her; it would be all her fault if she let him. A beast never changed; a bastard had much to prove. She wouldn’t let him prove it with her.

  
*****

  
The bed was scarcely bigger than a single size, each of them curled up on their respective sides, Jareth easy and sprawled, Sarah stiff and in a tight ball. Her legs drew to her stomach, and she had turned her back to him. Still, their closeness was aggravated by the many pillows and heavy coverlets on the feather ticked mattress.

  
“Do you have to take up so much room?” she spat out, withdrawing even further into her space.

  
“Does your hair have to be so long? It is smothering me,” Jareth retorted. He took the dark strands in his palms and shoved them away, but not before Sarah noted, he let his fingers caress and stroke a few moments.

  
Her voice came out breathy. “The pins. They were bothering my head.”

  
He rolled over. Closer. “I think I feel one of them under my back.” He pulled the offending ivory made hairpiece from beneath his side and threw it across the room.

  
“Thanks,” she said, insincere. “Now I’ll never find it.”

  
He chortled. “That is the point. You look better with your hair down anyway. I’ll never understand why women must contrive such complicated styles.”

  
She shrugged. A comment like that could only demand a return of sharp retort or ignorance. She decided on the latter.

  
She snuck a glance at him. He had removed his shirt, under the covers with only his tight trousers. He shifted and then threw the blankets off in a huff. The motion sent the bed to tremble.

  
She inhaled, caught her breath and sucked in his scent. He was too close. His fragrance wafted at her, unfamiliar but pleasing. Lime and forests and something unidentifiable, a heady mixture she knew to be him.

  
She realized with a startled jerk, that he reminded her of home. Not of her father, or the place she had lived before she came to the Underground. No, he was like her childhood home in the mountains, of what used to be, before the Last Great War that separated countries and states in riotous upheaval, upper New England. He was of her mother, who wore the verbena of citrus tucked around her wrists under her sleeves, and with a satchel placed delicately in her lingerie drawers. Her mother, who had died and caused her father to seek Sarah’s fortune in the Below.

  
The memories brought tears to her eyes. Damn Jareth. She hadn’t thought of such things in too long; remembering was useless and pain inducing. She couldn’t change the past. She couldn’t bring back her mother and she couldn’t return to the home where she had last felt safe.

  
His voice came to her from the other side of the bed. “Are you crying?” He paused, his tone shamed. “I’ll find your hairpin if you are that upset.”

  
A short laugh burst out from her. Pained and unamused. “No, I am fine. I just remembered something I wish I had not.”

  
She felt his arms go behind his head, his left elbow bumping into her upper back. “Tell me. Maybe you’ll feel better and then you won’t have to be like such a stiff board laying next to me.”

  
Sarah rolled over onto her back, and after silent debate, to face him. “My mother,” she whispered. “I miss her.” It was coy admittance.

  
Jareth’s eyes flickered, as if he hadn’t expected her words. He swallowed, his throat muscles tight under his skin.

  
“You loved her.” His words were more statement than question.

  
“Very much.” Difficult to say, more difficult to have him know.

  
He nodded. “Yes. That I can understand.”

  
Her eyes met his. “You loved your mother, also, then. In that, perhaps we are more similar than I realized.” Silence, once again easy between them.

  
He cough-choked. His gaze skirted from hers, avoiding her tentative shy smile. “A dangerous thing.” He wouldn’t look at her as he spoke. “Getting comfortable with each other,” he paused, “May not be in our best interest.”

  
She snapped back into her own space. “I never suggested that I felt comfortable, Lord Atar. Anything but, in fact.” Sarah made to roll back over, turning from him.

  
He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to being,” he stopped, contemplating his words carefully. “Kind.”

  
“That is obvious.”

  
“Don’t be angry. We have to endure each other for many days hence. It wouldn’t be wise to be at each other’s throats.”

  
She tested her fortitude and stayed silent when she wanted to retort harshly. “I’m not angry,” she said, finally. “I just don’t care.”

  
His eyes flared. “Did you get that temper from your mother, as well?”

  
“What do you know of my mother?” Charged with fire, filled with brim.

  
“I know you don’t look anything like your father. I assume you resemble her, instead.”

  
“I look like her, yes.” He waited, and she continued. “But she never got a temper. In that, perhaps I am like my father, after all.”

  
He grunted, and she testily asked, “What?”

  
Jareth narrowed his eyes at her pert questioning of him. “It’s no wonder you speak fondly of her. Your father,” he said, his disapproval making his voice tight, “Seems like he let you go, when he should have held on to the daughter that could have proved a reminder of her.”

  
“You know nothing of it.”

  
He sat up, his movement jerking the coverlets away from her body. “I know that if I had a child, a daughter, I wouldn’t sell her to the highest bidder.”

  
Tears replaced the disapproved tension in her eyes. She attempted a careless shrug. “What is done, is done.”

  
“Ridiculous.” Jareth leaned over her and grabbed her upper arms, his grasp firm. “You were forced to marry my father. You are a child in comparison to him. What right does he have to have you?”

  
“I am happy.”

  
“You lie.”

  
She jerked away. “I wouldn’t confess to you even if I were.”

  
He pulled back. Away.

  
“So that is how we stand.” She nodded in response. He grinned, false camaraderie. He lay down again, his hands tucked beneath his head, as he had it before. “I like it this way. Practical, boundaries drawn.”

  
He lied also. She wouldn’t contradict him, though. It was better they remained distant. Becoming comfortable with each other, as he suggested, would be grievous to both.

  
*****

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

As Sarah awoke, her hair was as usual mussed across her face and tangled around her neck. It had also, unfortunately, tangled itself around Jareth’s face and neck. Her arms were firmly around his neck, a clutch-hold, and as she came to she was snuggled up next to his stiffened, taut body.

He was awake. Hardly breathing. His eyes darted over to her, an oddly discordant scared look hovering on his face. It was a far cry from his usual supercilious glare.

“Good,” he said, sitting up and using the force to push her away from him, as she flushed at the close vicinity she had settled into while asleep. “Your hair was suffocating me.” He yawned, widely and unapologetically, belying the words that should have been cruel but instead edged with a heady desire.

“You didn’t sleep?” she said, taunting.

His mouth quirked up at the corners as if he fought the smile. “You should be glad I didn’t. We may have ended up on top the other.” He grinned at her pink-tinged blush. “I’ve never had complaints about it before, though.”

She snarled. “Well, you would have heard it from me.”

“Back to that, are we?”

“I’m sure you are used to the cooing and fawning of your women. Rest assured, I will not be one of them.”

He had regained his swagger. He leaned over her, his mouth inches from her own.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

She made like she was going to snap and bite at him, but instead, she just folded her arms defensively. “Don’t test me, Jareth.”

“I do so enjoy hearing my name on your lips.”

“Well, enjoy it now, because that’s all of mine you’re ever going to get.”

“A challenge? You should have warned me that this conversation would turn out to be fun.”

She stammered. “No. No challenge. I simply--”

He laughed, his eyes bright. “Draw in those pretty claws. There is no need to fear anything from me.”

She remained wary. “I’ll believe that when I am away and back with my husband.”

His face shuttered off. “You miss him, then?”

“I suppose.” Then she added, firmer, “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Who are you convincing, you or me?”

“Your father,” she emphasized the word, “Is a good man. Of course, I miss him.”

Jareth snorted. “You really do live in a dream world.” He uncovered himself from the tangle of blanket. He was naked.

Her head whipped to the side, avoiding the sight of his bare body. “What are you doing? Why are you naked!” Her voice shrieked.

“The blankets kept getting caught on the material of my pants. Very uncomfortable.” His answer was amused.

“You didn’t...you should have...why did you uncover yourself in my presence?” Her tone escalated into a shrill squeak.

“Nothing a married woman like you hasn’t seen before.” Sly. Unconvincing. “Is it?”

She gritted her teeth within her jaw. “Of course not.”

He stood. Faced her. She made herself look at him. At his neck, and no lower.

He smirked. “Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there?”

“No. Nothing.” Then, in desperation, she repeated her handmaid Lilith’s favorite phrase. “A shame.”

He frowned. “What is?”

She knew she had turned the tables in her favor once more. She hid a grin. “Nothing.”

“You find fault with what you see?” He placed his hands on his slender hips, but his fingers tapped in frustration.

She pretended with innocence of speech. “Of course not.”

His eyes narrowed. “You are full of chicanery.” Doubt rode in his voice, slight. Inebriating to Sarah with her victory.

She repeated what she knew would sting the most to a man of his magnificence. “Small matter.”

He stared at her. Long, scrutinizing. Then he threw back his head and burst out in laughter.

“You are delightful.”

She pouted, trying to curb her reaction. “Whatever for?”

“As a brilliant sparring master. Truly, I applaud you.”

Sarah tried to keep her mouth from betraying her. She failed. A shared laughter joined his.

“You might want to check that ego, Lord Atar.”

“And you might want to check that sense of warped humor, Queen of the Upper North.”

She smiled, unbidden. “You are still unclothed.”

He reached for his trousers and dragged them on. “I thought I would fight for the last word.”

There was silence, but once again, it was comfortable.

******

 

Their truce came in a momentary lull. The kitchen proved their battling ground.

Sarah had a hankering for her mother’s chocolate chip cookies, the only recipe she knew and could bake without ruin. Supplies were still abundant, and she learned Jareth had a sweet tooth.

He hovered, pestered and thoroughly got in her way. Every stir, he grabbed a lick; every ingredient, he compensated for with his own dash or addition.

Flustered, she said, “Will you. Stop?” A staccato of frustration and near induced war cry.

He pretended innocence. “Why? Am I bothering you?”

She fought a smile. “You have cookie dough on your upper lip.” She reached out, paused, and then brushed it off. He followed her finger with a scoop of his tongue stroking his mouth.

“Better?”

“Um.” She was still examining him. “I suppose.”

He reached in the bowl, once more instigating her ire, and pulled out a fingerful to lick. His mouth contained in silence only for the brief moment it was occupied.

“Good.” He sucked at his finger, then smiled, watching her observe him. “Something wrong? More on my face?”

“No.” She turned away. Her answer short, her breath hitched.

She had to stop. Stop…

She had no business even thinking of him in a favorable light. He was her stepson, a pariah, the base born child of her husband. He also had taken in desire many women, and would surely have more as soon as they were back at the castle. She was only a distraction to him; he would use her to fill the gap, and she refused to allow her tempestuous emotion to stir her.

“You need to get out of the kitchen.”

She made to push him away. He grabbed her by her outstretched hand. “You won’t let them burn?”

She frowned. “Of course not.”

“Promise? Because you have a bad record of not doing so great in the kitchen.”

“I promise. I won’t burn your cookies.”

He grinned. He retreated, backing up slowly. “Just so you remember they’re mine.”

She muttered under her breath, “I should have poisoned them.”

He laughed. “I heard that.”

The cookies were perfection. He took a whole handful and then came back for the rest.

“You really like chocolate.”

“It’s a delicacy in the Underground,” he said, popping a whole cookie into his mouth, chewing and swallowing it with an obvious great delight. “My father trades his very best wares to get it.”

She leaned over and took the last cookie, defending herself from his outcried glare. “Well, you can’t eat all of them.”

“When can you make more?” he asked.

She laughed. “You just finished a double batch.” His eyes were sorrowful. She amended, “Perhaps later this week, if we are still here.”

He reassured her. “We will be here.”

The words hit her stomach like the very iron that threatened most of the inhabitants of the Below. The blond man’s presence: it too, threatened. He was a devious warrior, and Jareth played to win. By his own mouth, he refused to allow himself to fall into stalemate. Even for his father's queen. She was on dangerous footing.

Sarah backed up against the countertop, her pleasure eroded. “Doesn’t my husband care that we are here? Won’t he want to retrieve us soon?” Pitiful words. They shattered the calm, demanding truth, pleading for response.

Jareth set the mixing bowl he had just washed down onto a clean dishtowel. He looked over at her, then continued his chore.

“He cares,” he said, quiet. “He also has no recourse but to accept that we are here.”

She burst out, feeling a panic set in at his pragmatic manner, “Maybe we can leave. You said you are a great huntsman. Can’t you protect us both and take us back?”

Jareth frowned. “Even I don’t dare disobey the king.”

“But he’s your father!”

He picked up a batter-licked spoon, dumping it into a sinkful of soapy water. “Yes. He is.”

It dawned on her, sudden and stupendous, that he was avoiding the conversation. She blurted, leaning near him, into his space, “What are you hiding from me?”

He continued washing. Slow, meticulous, bubbles cradling his hands up to his sinewy forearms. She smacked away the utensil, making it drop into the hot, sudsy water.

“Answer me.”

He turned, crowding her against the back of the counter, just as she had with him. He bowed his head towards her, impertinent and sharp, only playing at subservience.

“Even I, foolhardy as I am accused of being, would not threaten my life to answer that question.” He added, vitriolic in tone, “Oh, my Queen.” He turned, ignoring her, shutting their conversation off completely.

She swallowed, bitter bile at her failure to convince. Play or be played. She knew enough to realize she couldn’t trump this hand to its end. She could be meek. She could be humble. Sarah had lived a capricious lie for so many years she had come to believe she was those things. The letting loose of her caged oubliette, gilt yet barren, was naught but a facade. Jareth didn’t want her to be free. Like a songbird with clipped wings, she climbed back into her broken expanse, shutting the door behind her.

She should have known better than to let herself begin to trust him…

Or even worse, want him.

*****

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

The kingship, the kingship. It played like a song, insidious and taunting, an ear-worm beckoning to stay.

Damn him. Oh, damn him mightily.

Jareth couldn’t wonder if he cursed his father, or himself.  _ Just be yourself… _

Alastair’s words bugged his ears. Who was he but a man destined to hurt, to hunt like the warrior he was, to delight in and thrill at the terror of the targeted prey.

_ Sarah. _ His stepmother. His Queen. The woman who lay beside him not knowing of his treachery.

No, not his woman. His father’s.

He stared up at the ceiling of the charcoal-black velvet canopy of the bed, Sarah's arms draped at his shoulders and neck. In her sleep she muttered, was soft, was delectable. He cursed again.

_ Be yourself _ . He could never be himself. She would run away in fear, away from the vainglorious bastard son.

Jareth's eyes slid to Sarah's supine body. She was beautiful, full of sass, just what he craved and feared that he needed. Something he'd never had. A woman with fire. A woman with backbone; a woman with light in her eyes and mercy in her heart. She played a game and played it well. The woman beside him had been taught to serve, to be submissive. Maybe his father believed it of her; he didn’t.

He had always treated women as an object, revered for the way they could pacify him, slack his thirsts and leave him sated. Doing that to Sarah disgusted him. But what had he obligated himself to do but that very thing?

He clenched and unclenched his fists as they lay beside him. He wouldn't reach out to touch her glorious hair, to caress her skin, to kiss her upturned and sleep-flushed face. She was forbidden. She had erected a boundary that he must respect. Jareth sighed. He attempted to roll over, away from her. She followed him in her sleep.

He endured. He prayed. He lay unyielding and restless, not sleeping as he listened to the night all around him.

As the night waned, the exiles made their way home. He was one of them, a rebel, a child of the lost. His father made sure of that. And now his father had impeached him as a prisoner of his own selfish desires. Never to speak of his shame, never to confess and be forgiven.

Jareth looked at Sarah one more time before he slipped out from beneath the covers, dragged on his shirt, and went to the window. He knew what the distant pounding of drums meant. Rebellion. As his mother’s son, his duty was to answer. As his father’s malignant triumph, he couldn’t obey their call.

_ The kingship. The kingship. _

He leaned his forehead against the cool paned glass. His head hurt. His body throbbed, want and need warring. He darted a glance at the sleeping woman.

How many times had he almost made his play? How many times had he cursed himself and then backed off from his mission? It would be so easy; she was an innocent. Her eyes, though frightened, gazed upon him with a mystified longing. One that she battled. One that she would acquiesce if he pushed. He refused to push.

He couldn’t make himself destroy her.  _ Let her know who you are… _

She had called him a beast. A monster. The clear glass heated with the touch of his skin. The fire within that made him seduce and prey, devour and annihilate, made the window fog and steam. He had become that which he hated. He had become his father. Wouldn’t Hidal the Red laugh? He won; he had taken and destroyed Jareth as surely as he had destroyed his mother.

Sarah murmured. She shifted in her sleep, reaching for him. He smiled. He would go back to her, let her cling, let her wrap around him in her repose, her naive reasoning, her fiery passions. And he would fight as he always had against the man his father created. Against the lurker in the shadows.

* * *

 

He was standing up against the iron-bar window when she awoke, his shirt on but unbuttoned to the waist. Jareth turned as she shifted. "You're awake." His voice was tight, unflinching. "It's the middle of the night."

"I heard drums."

"The forest comes alive at night." His voice was passive, deceptively so.

"You don't seem surprised."

"It is my home. Nothing about the forest surprises me."

She sat up, the thin chemise used as her nightgown slipping down off her shoulders. She pulled it up, watching him.

He eyed her, but his eyes were dim. Empty of dream, empty of want, empty of everything but pain.

"What's wrong?" she asked. She didn't expect him to answer.

He looked back out the window, then spoke. His voice was rough as if he hadn't slept at all.

"I've done you a disservice," he said. He didn't look at her.

She waited. Waited. He spoke again, his fists tight at his side.

"You are a prisoner here, not able to feel the air, not able to dance in the grass. Trapped inside, with me." He swung around, facing her, still not meeting her eyes. "I have done that to you."

"You are keeping me safe." She whispered, not sure of his motivation, his sudden about-face.

His tone became bitter. "Am I?"

"You are following my husband's command."

He grappled with a harsh laugh. "Yes, so I am." He glared at her. "Magnificent of me, to keep you hostage. To keep you from light and air and truth and consequence."

Sarah pulled the coverlet up about her neck. "You're scaring me."

"So I should." He bit out the ominous words. He whispered. "So I should."

"Jareth--"

"Stop!" He held out his hand to her, beseeching. Objecting. A cradle of exorcised desire; a fuming of need and want. "Don't." He implored her. "Please. Don't."

She began again, not sure of what she had done. "Lord Atar--"

"Yes. That is who I am, who I have been poisoned to become." He ground his jaw. "I am not Jareth, not to you."

She slid out of bed, battled with her nerve, then went to him. Stood behind him, reached out. Touched him, his back, hailing his spirit. He cringed.

"Why do you speak this way?" she said, pulling her hand back at his flinch. "You are the man that my husband trusts to keep me from harm." She added, unsure, "I trust you, too."

"Do you?" He laughed, unfriendly. Cold. He turned and jerked her body to his, flesh to flesh, muscle to muscle. Only for an instant. Only because it mattered. "That is your first mistake."   
  


She began again, calling him as he had forbidden. "Jareth." She pulled away, cautious. Frighteningly reluctant. "I don't understand."

He looked down at her, sighed deeply. "The drums are beating." He looked away, back out the window. "They call to me."

She stood beside him, looking out the window. Her eyes lifted to his face. "So--You must listen."

His answer was a sniff of discontent. He backed away from her, from what he had been staring out at. The blackness. The forest. His past.

"My mother used to say the same thing," he said, his voice softer as he recalled. "I wanted to escape from her, from everything I knew." He paused. "I got my wish."

He froze as her fingers reached for him again. His words sharpened. "It is nothing. I must see to you, keep you safe from the Dark Forests' pull." He shrugged her hand away. "Never have I shirked a task. You will find I am a diligent pupil of the king." His eyes gleamed brightly. "In all matters."

He leaned forward, his tall frame towered over her. "Now," he whispered, "I believe your king told you to listen to me."

She cringed at the sad and disheartened discord in his voice. "Yes."

"Then we are going to have to make sure you do." His face twisted, an ugliness that purported pain. "Come here, my Queen."

"Jareth--"

He shook his head. "Not listening. You are not allowed to call me by my name."

She shivered. "Why are you acting like--"

"I said. Come here!" He was backing up towards the bed, predatory. He beckoned her to follow.

She obeyed, tears slipping down her face. He turned as if the sight frustrated him. He stiffened again, took a staggered breath, and faced her once more.

"Come lay down on the bed." He shuddered at his words.

"Lord Atar--" She shook her head in refusal. In disbelief.

"Your lord-husband will know if you don't comply."

Sarah whispered, "My lord-husband...yes." It was a murmur, distraught and useless.

She came near, slow, as if waiting for him to change his mind. His face remained carefully blank. She huffed, flipped her body past him to the canopied frame. She sat with a bounce on top of the twisted coverlet. Then, she stared in defiance.

"Well? I did as you ordered."

His eyes were fire. His face said nothing.

"What would you have me do, Lord Atar?" she said, brim in her voice. "I am here for your bidding." She snapped staccato. "Just as my king ordered." Sharp. Empty. "Ask, and I shall obey."

He held out his hand, keeping her still with its trembling demand. "You are worthily subservient, my Queen."

She nodded, fear and penalty spewing from her eyes. He soaked her in, her worthy dislike, the anger that radiated from her. His penance.

Her tears wouldn't cease, begging. Imploring him for mercy. Impaling his heart with its tender destruction.

"Lord Atar, your bidding."

The drums crescendoed. He sighed, a virulence barely contained.

"Cover yourself." His words were as black as the nighttime air. "A royal doesn't expose herself to a menial."

He strode to the bedroom's door, pulled it open with a yank. He stood still a moment, his slender musculature a shadow in the light. His pause lengthened. Then Jareth exited the room, slamming the door behind him.

Sarah slid down into the blankets, a mixture of relief and agony. Her emotions were as volatile as the wind in the trees. Safety had never felt so lonely. Fright had never seemed so appealing. She covered herself from neck to toe with the heavy coverlet, her obedience unseen. Her passions, a denial.

 


	9. Chapters 9--28--The Vow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to add the final chapters of the story that I had posted, edited and finished, at FF. For those of you still reading this, I thank you!

**Chapter Nine**

She slept late the next morning. Slipping out from the warm bed, she put on her green gown and fixed her hair with her fingers, inserting pin after pin into the disheveled tresses. Jareth was right; she had let herself presume. She had let her guard slip. She wouldn't allow it again.

But in spite of her revelation, she couldn't open the bedroom door to face him. She stood, watching the wood creak and moan as she leaned against it. Be brave, Sarah, she said. Ignoring her own advice.

She heard his voice from opposite the door. "Are you coming out?"

"No."

Yes. She didn't know. She swallowed back her consternation.

"Suit yourself. Breakfast is ready."

His words continued to pummel her. Royal. Yes, she was. Her husband was king, and she was a queen. There was nothing to be afraid of.

She pried open the door, stepping out into the living area. Wonderful smells wafted at her.

"I made bacon. I hope you eat meat."

She nodded. She would eat anything if it meant she didn't have to cook.

He was acting like nothing was amiss. Well, two could play that game. She strode into the room, confidence her ploy.

There was only one place setting. "You're not eating?" she said.

His voice was softly precise. "I ate earlier."

"I overslept."

He nodded, filling her plate. He was still ignoring her, his speech careful. Open-ended.

"The night noises kept me awake."

He flinched. Then he said, "They won't bother you again."

"Oh?"

He gestured to the table. "Are you eating?"

"Are you ignoring me?"

He bit back a smile. "Yes."

Sarah frowned. "Well, don't. We clearly needed to settle some things, and I think you have made your point. I understand everything. I will behave as my husband would expect of me. You will behave as your father expects of you. Nothing more."

Jareth looked at her with awe. "How did you manage to convince everyone that you are passive and soft spoken?" His voice held no contempt, not like the night before, but his praising words gave her the gumption to continue.

Sarah lifted her chin. "Lord Atar. I understood everything you said to me last night, and you are mistaken if you think I am in disagreement. You are a lord of the kingdom, but I am its queen. Please do not disrespect me by your informality."

He nodded, his eyes on her face, searching. Searching.

"I wouldn't dream of it." He leaned down, picking up a long and curved piece of wood and a small handled knife. He sat across from her with both.

She took her first bite, but his movements distracted. "What are you doing?"

He smiled. "Whittling the wood into shape."

"For what?"

"I am making a bow." He looked at her. "For you."

She shook her head. "I never learned how to do archery. It's unnecessary for me to have one."

"It is for your protection." He went back to his project.

"I thought that was why you are here."

"I may not always be, my queen." He looked behind her at the window over the sink. "You will need it then."

"Does this have to do with those drums at night?"

"Astute, as always." His voice gave nothing away.

"Are you leaving me?" Her voice broke midway into the question.

He repeated, "It is for your protection." The bow, she thought, or against him? He gave little impression, his words careful and tight.

Sarah suddenly felt no appetite. "Teach me, then."

His gaze became serious. "Of course." He paused. "That is why I am here."

*****

Outdoors at last, Jareth gave her the bow, its arrows, and instruction. She frowned, and grappled with the unused muscles of her upper body.

"No." He pressed her arm up and forward. "Again."

"My shoulder is sore."

"You have to practice." He gave no leniency. "Again."

She drew the taut string back to her chin, three fingers bracing the arrow. "What am I aiming for this time?"

"Look down your arm to your closed fingers. What do you see?"

She squinted. "An old tree trunk, fallen to the ground. Same as before."

"Then shoot at it, and don't let your aim slip."

She narrowed her gaze. The string reverberated; the arrow fell short of her mark. She groaned in frustration. "What am I doing wrong?"

"Just because you can't hit your target now doesn't mean you won't be able to in the future. You need to strengthen those muscles."

She sighed. "Can I rest?"

"A moment."

He pulled the bow from her aching fingers. "Five minutes, then you do it all over again." He smiled, lupine arrogance. "Practice makes perfect."

"I want to see you try this, if this is a skill I am supposed to master. You order me around, but I haven't seen you shoot at anything at all."

He grinned. "If my lady, the queen, wishes." He raised the bow, though it had been made for her slighter female size in shape and ability. "Look ahead of you. The tree trunk."

"You'll never hit it. It's too far." She grumbled. "No one could hit that thing."

He pulled back the string, his arrow raised to chin's height. Ping. One arrow, into the bark. Swiftly he drew another arrow. Ping. The second one made into the wood next to the first.

Sarah kept her mouth from gaping. "Make it a third time and I'll be forced to reward you." He questioned with his eyes. She added, alluring yet circumspect. "With a kiss."

His grin widened. "Promise?"

She tucked her arms together. "Sure. Why not?"

Ping. The third arrow met its mark, splitting the two before it. Jareth set down the bow, triumphant.

"My reward."

She stammered. "You are better than me. Of course you betted on it."

"Of course." His eyebrows darted up in amusement. "My reward."

She hedged. "I'll make a bargain with you. Two kisses--"

He smiled, as she halted him with a raised palm. "Two kisses, for a game of whist. The winner take all."

"Are you sure you are fully human, and not a woman of the Below?" he said. "You wager like one of us."

"Then you will know what to expect. Shall we go inside?"

"Winner take all." Jareth took her arm, leading her to the door, carrying her bow in his other hand.

*****

"You cheated!"

Jareth laughed. "You never said I couldn't." He packed up the deck and stood. "Surely you know that to bet against someone with fae blood is asking to lose."

"You lost before." She lowered her chin, staring at her joined fingers. "How was I to know?"

"It's not fair?" he said, mocking her futility. She nodded, miserable.

"Perhaps not to you," he answered, lifting her to her feet. "But this game has been one of the more enjoyable in my lifetime."

He took her chin in his palm. "Your kiss." He added, "Twice, as specified."

She paused, observing him. She then grinned, placing her hands on his cheeks. His eyes flared at her motion. She saw, and heard, him swallow.

"Your kiss," she said, with a jaunty coo.

She pecked his cheek. One side, then the other. Her triumph blasted at him. "I believe I met the requirements?"

His body stood ramrod, then he burst out into hearty laughter. "You minx. I am justifiably served."

She quieted. "You're not mad?"

"No." He grinned. "Just disappointed."

They stared at each other a moment and then his grin slowly faded. "We should continue to practice your archery. It's still light outside."

She nodded. He had reminded her that they were not in the king's lodge to enjoy themselves. They were there for her safety.

"If you wish," she said. She let him lead her outdoors, but her heart was pained. It seemed they weren't to be friends at all. She should be grateful he had reminded her of it.

******

"No, no, no!" His exasperation with her matched her own disgust at her inability. He snapped, "You did better this morning."

"I'm sorry. The bow is too tight for my arm."

"It's not. You are weak, and it's unacceptable."

"I beg your pardon." She snapped right back at him, their patience with the other ended.

"You must learn, and be more than just competent. You have to be good enough to defend yourself."

"Against what, Jareth? I see nothing here that can harm me."

His jaw tightened. "You will obey."

"Or what? You'll tell on me?"

He walked away in his frustration, circling back only to round on her again. "You should know that this forest is dangerous. You'd think that you'd want to learn how to take care of yourself instead of just waiting for everyone to do it for you."

He stopped, realizing what he had said in his wrath. Her eyes teared, as much from his cruel words as the truth of it.

"Show me again. I'll do better."

"Sarah, I--"

"Show me, Lord Atar. You are right, I can do more."

He placed his fingers over her own, correcting her placement on the strings. "Remember, two fingers to hold the arrow in place, and the bottom finger to brace them."

She nodded. He took her pinkie away from the string.

"Not this one. Keep this curled back near your palm."

She made the correction. He backed away from her.

"Good," he said. "Sight your target. Aim and release."

Sarah pulled back on the heavy string, her arrow darting from it, true and straight. "I hit it!"

"I knew you could." He smiled. "Again."

"My arm--" She stopped herself. "Okay. Again."

She placed another arrow into the target, off center but pleasing him with its aim. "Good, my Queen. You can relax, if you wish."

The sky highlighted with the fuchsia hue of sunset. He looked up, and then took her bow. "We should go in."

"This is my favorite time of the day."

"Mine as well, but it's--"

She interrupted. "Yes, I know. It's safer indoors."

He contemplated a moment, and then said, "Perhaps a little while. Would you enjoy a walk?"

"Yes, please!"

He took her arm, at once guiding and protecting her. A smile hovered on her face; he tried to be glum, but his chivalry and charm always won out.

They walked west, the setting sun a portrait on the sky. Beyond the line of evergreen surrounding the lodge, the trees thinned out, and the forest floor lay covered with moss that sheltered their footsteps into silence.

They walked up the hills and through the furrows, their feet making little pats on the ground. Neither talked for a long while. The air set up a breeze, and wafted their unique scents to the other: Sarah with vanilla and jasmine, Jareth's like the forest that surrounded them.

Sarah sighed, content. He squeezed her hand lightly, reassuring and quick, within his larger palm.

He whispered, as if afraid to disturb the quiet. "Do you miss it?"

"Miss--?" Her voice also whispered.

"Home. The Above. I'm told the Underground is very different than what you know."

"It is, but to answer, no. I don't miss it."

He tilted his head, questioning. She sighed, "Why? Because my home isn't there anymore. The war took it away."

"I've heard there was much destruction." He was sympathetic, but not pacifying.

"Too much. The leaders of the world had grouped together, claiming peace. But behind each other's backs, they were ready to annihilate. And they did." She shuddered. "It was horrible. No food, water and air tainted by the toxic gases. Everything became unrecognizable. My father saved me, though I didn't realize how much so at the time."

"When he sold you." His voice became bitter, masking nothing.

Her gaze sharpened. "He saved me by letting me go. I would have been victimized if left in the Above."

"You don't think you were still victimized?" His voice was tart.

"I am a queen," she said, lightly. "Not many girls my age can make a claim like that."

"So your title," he said, deliberately bland, "Is that what matters? A pretty frock, nice jewels, people to bow to you and cater to you? Is it worth it?"

"I have no choice but to accept it. There's no going back."

Jareth turned, facing her. "But if you could, would you change it?"

"What do you mean? How could I?"

He quieted. "It was just a question."

She looked up at his cautiously drawn face. "It is never just a question with you, I have found. What do you mean, Jareth?"

"I just wanted to know how you enjoyed your privilege." He shrugged. "You are the envy of many women in court."

"I don't want to be."

His gaze sharpened. "No? When you have your heart's desire?"

"I don't have my heart's desire." She mulled over the truth in her words, and he contemplated them with equal severity.

He looked out beyond her, through the trees and into the fading light. "I would have thought, as Queen--"

"Jareth." She pulled his attention back down to her. "What is this questioning?"

"I hoped you would be honest with me." He played obtuse.

"I am. I have answered you, however strange your query may be."

He laughed, strained. "It is nothing. Just foolish whim. Forget I said anything."

They were quiet, the words hovering over them. Then Sarah spoke, continuing as if the remarks had never stopped.

"It is nice to be Queen. But I would trade it, for freedom."

His palm suddenly became sweaty against hers. "Freedom." He paused, stopping in his tracks and pulling her to a stop with him. "Yes, I know what that is like, to crave something you can't have." His words were carefully easy.

"I know what it is you crave," she said, dipping her head and looking up under her lashes while continuing to tease him. "You must be missing your friends. All those pretty skirted females, pining after you in your absence." She hadn't realized how the words would ache.

"I would trade any of them for one moment with you."

She flushed. He sounded sincere, but his eyes mocked. How easy, then, to keep her words light.

"And relinquish your precious freedom, my lord?" she said. "I am not known to share. Even when a little girl, I insisted on having my way."

"It seems we are well matched, for neither am I inclined," he said, "To share."

Tension spilled in the air, their easy banter pallid and recoiled. He looked down on her, and she up to him. Their eyes met, passed, met again.

"It is good then, that we never have to worry about sharing the other." Her voice bit at him with blunt honesty.

He bowed, his stance sharp. "Of course."

"It is nearly dark," she said. She turned, ready to walk back. He stopped her with a gripped palm.

"Are you afraid of me, Sarah?" his voice, sincere. Lost.

She smiled, timid again. He stared at her, his breath caught, as if he waited for eagerly for her answer.

"Not anymore."

*****

**Chapter Ten**

The drums began to pound, soft, and then more insistent. Jareth gazed behind them, pulling her along even faster.

"I'm with you," she said. "Won't I be safe? You said--"

"I said you didn't have to worry. I never said you shouldn't."

"I have my bow. I'll be okay--"

"Of course. How I have forgotten your improvement," he scoffed, not breaking his stride, "In the last hour."

"You don't have to be mean."

"If they catch up to us, you'll see me more than mean."

She jerked her head around. "They are following."

"Yes."

He bit out the words, his pace two steps before her own. He dragged her behind, not pausing, never slowing.

"Wait. You're going too fast. I can't breath."

He stopped, jerked her around so that her back was to him, and then he began to tug at her dress. "What are you doing?" she said, trying to release herself.

"Loosening your laces. Of course they are too tight."

"You'll make the dress fall off. Stop!"

"Damn if I don't rip the whole thing from your body. Stop squirming!"

She sucked in a deep breath as the laces pulled away from her skin. "Stop. I can breathe. I can breathe now!"

He grunted. "Come on."

"No."

He stopped. His face darkened, eerily calm. "No?"

"I said it. You heard me."

"Do you have a death wish?"

"No one will harm me."

Jareth gritted his teeth. "I will harm you, if you don't listen."

"No, you won't. And neither will they."

"Oh?" Calm, giving her words weight by his pause.

She dug in her heels, stopping him from pulling her forward again. "No one will harm me. I know--"

"You know?" He made to pull her again. She resisted and pulled right back.

"I've seen them, dressed in brown and green and black, men that blend with the trees and the night." Jareth's face grew in pointed discomfort as she grew insistent. "They are kind."

His teeth made a hissing sound. "Kind? They are nothing of the sort. They are warriors, born and bred."

"Aren't you, as well? I am not afraid of you."

"Right now you should be."

"Jareth, stop!" He waited. "You're not listening to me," she said.

He crossed his arms over his chest. He waited.

"You're a liar." Her words weren't angry. They were lucidly calm. "And I know it."

He smiled, wolfish and contrary. "So I am. And you are a fool, Sarah, for thinking that you are safe."

"They won't hurt me. I've met them, and they are just like you." His face blanched. She ignored his stare. "You wouldn't hurt me, and neither would they."

He smothered a pained look. He looked into the distance, into the foliage of the trees, and cursed.

"You can't..." His voice trailed off, not debating the truth of her words. He tried again, "You can't reveal what you think you know."

She, also, crossed her arms. Triumphant at his withdrawal.

He worked his mouth, still trying to convince her. "They hide to be safe. You are in danger--"

"I'm not."

"You are so," he quibbled. "And right now, you should be terribly afraid of me. I could whip you for what you've done. How did you escape me?" His voice held little conviction, gave no ambitions besides the facade of a threat, and so she felt no fear.

She took him to task. "Why did you tell me that I had to hide? That they wanted my blood? That they would come for me if you weren't there to protect me?"

"Sarah," he said, his eyebrows lowered in a glare. He shrugged. "I can't trust you not to betray them." He paused. "And me."

She reached out to cup his cheek, the impulsive caress making his eyes flare. "Jareth. I will never betray you."

He made to answer; stopped. His face gleamed at her, and for a moment she thought he might even kiss her. But, no.

A voice called from the distance, disturbing their tentative peace. "Ahoy!"

Jareth turned, all fire gone from his eyes. "Yane, my friend."

A hunter came from the trees, a bow in his hand and a quiver of arrows against his back. The man waved in a pleasant hello.

Jareth derided the man for his apt tracking of them. "You are quick. We were nearly away."

"Quicker than you." The short man smiled at Sarah. "The lady Sarah." He reached for her hand and kissed it as Jareth frowned at the familiar touch. "It is a delight, as it was before."

Jareth's eyes narrowed at her. She darted a nervous grin back at him.

"Yane," she said, dodging the blond man's eyes, though Jareth had stepped closer at the hunter's greeting. "How is your family?"

"Doing well, my lady. I will tell them you asked about them."

"You will not." Jareth fumed.

Yane observed, and then smiled. "Ah, Master Jareth, she is a beautiful woman. Why did you never tell us you had taken a wife?"

Sarah cut in before her sometimes-nemesis could answer. "Because it was so sudden. Right, my love?"

Jareth ground out, "Right." He didn't elaborate, the stilted response not fazing the hunter.

"Same as always, lad. Still with a bite on your tongue. Maybe the missus will soften it."

"I'll make sure she does." Jareth looked on her with warning. And giddy promise. She swallowed the tinge of want and fear.

"So I was doing my rounds, and who should I stumble upon the other night but your lovely bride. She took me by surprise. Quite a right hook on her, she has."

Sarah grinned at the praise. Jareth pulled her to his side. Captive. "You don't say."

"You have heard, I assume?" the man said, wiping his travel-sweaty forehead with a grimy palm as he made his point quickly. "Talk in the Forest is that King Hidal is making for war on the tribes. Took a human wife, they say, and she is reputed to be a real virago. Enough to make trouble for us."

Sarah grunted. Jareth grinned. "I've heard that, myself. But war, no. The rumors haven't reached me."

"They aren't rumors, lad, by the talk of it. We are gearing up for battle. Will you join us?"

Jareth shifted, uncomfortable as Sarah listened open-eared. "You know my heart is with the Gar Nada tribe. Always."

"I know, to leave your Lady, just married...it is more than we should ask. But you are the greatest warrior we have known, past or present."

"He thanks you," Sarah said. "I am sure my husband will be aching for a fight."

Jareth's arched his eyebrows, raised at her mention of his father. Or did she still refer to Jareth? Sarah shook her head, not giving anything away.

He turned his attention back to the hunter. "Yane, this war...is it imminent?"

"Yes, but I'm surprised you aren't aware. Usually you know of everything far before we do." The man paused. "No, of course you would not have heard, not with your being at court in the recent year. Too long away from your roots, I say, but we are thankful for your faithful contact and the news you relay to us."

"I will always do what I can for my mother's people."

Drums beckoned in the chilled twilight air. Yane turned. "Well, I must be off, back to the family." He turned to Jareth, a final word. "We are gathering from across the Dark Forest, for what will come. I hope you will consider joining with us. This is a battle to save us all." He smiled at Sarah. "My lady, a pleasure."

"And mine."

When the hunter was out of sight, Jareth turned to her, his face a careful mask. "So, wife. Should I proceed to tie you down at night, or is that perhaps too much for a husband to beg from his beloved bride?"

*****

"You're angry."

Jareth didn't answer. He plowed ahead of her, his pace fast, his glower frightening.

"Please, slow down. Don't be mad. I just got so bored being inside all of those lovely days, and you never promised to let me go out at all."

"There was a reason for it."

"Not Yane? He is kind, as are his family, and who I met from his tribe."

Jareth whipped around. "I trusted you, that you would listen to me and stay put. Your husband counted on me. Should I tell him of your disobedience?"

She blanched. "He wouldn't understand."

"Nor do I. When did you find time to escape me, Sarah?"

She snuck a smile. "Well, you do tend to sleep rather hard, once you get back into the bed and aren't staring out the window."

"You think this is funny?"

She paused at the coldness in his voice. "You don't have to act like you hate me."

He sighed. "I don't hate you. I just expected you to obey me."

She burst into angry retort. "Then you are no better than your father. He expects me to obey him, also. I thought you didn't want to be like him."

"You're a woman alone, in a strange land with people who don't care about anything but mastery and power. Didn't you think," he burst at her. "Didn't you stop to wonder why I kept you from the forest?"

Her voice was small. "I don't know."

He rounded on her. "My people, my tribe, are the powerful Gar Nada. They are warriors, mighty, and kill without qualm. If they knew who were really were--" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "Sarah, I do all things for you. You have to trust me."

She stammered. "I trust you."

His face tightened. "Then act like it." He sped up again, and Sarah trailed behind, tears in her eyes.

"You're right." He paused in mid-step, slowing. She continued, "I'm sorry, Jareth."

"You aren't to leave my side, not tonight, not any time while we are here. You will be my shadow, and I will be--"

She said, sharp, "My master."

"Responsible for you." He glared at her for her interpretation of his words. "Count on sleeping next to me, in my arms, from here on out. I won't have you sneak away again."

"I like my personal space." Her tone was self-righteous.

He snorted. "You truly are clueless, kitten."

She flushed at his endearment, in the midst of his ire. He must care. But she rued that he would, for she had a husband, and she would soon be back in the castle with her true master. The king.

*****

**Chapter Eleven**

Jareth didn't hold back from his promise. He vowed to make her sleep in his arms, and he didn't lie. What he hadn't revealed was that he would remain completely in the nude, his retribution for alarming him.

"You can't!" Sarah said, desperation in her voice as he slowly, methodically, unfastened the topmost buttons on his trousers.

"I want to feel every inch of you as you lie beside me," he said, glee and victory in his voice. "Besides, I hate wearing anything in bed. It strangles me."

She whispered, "I'll strangle you."

"I heard that." His voice held no malice. He patted the bed beside him, but Sarah's eyes were still firmly closed. He cackled, wicked retribution.

"You could have stayed dressed. I won't leave again, I promise."

"Just to be extra sure," he said, "This will guarantee it." He sighed at her modesty. "Relax, I'm under the covers."

She gulped, took a deep breath, and then slid beside him under the covers. Her eyes popped open.

"You're dressed," she accused.

"If you would rather I not be," he said, still teasing.

"No," she said, a burst of exuberance. "I prefer you this way."

"Do you, now?"

She refused to answer. Sarah snuggled under the covers, drawing the blankets firmly around her shoulders. Jareth folded his arms behind his head, and in the small space, their bodies caressed and pained from the contact.

The drums outside sounded with insistence, and both listened. Jareth with trepidation for what would come, Sarah in awe of its meaning. Neither spoke for much time, but each were aware of the physicality of the others' presence.

Jareth spoke. "You should rest. They will continue through the night."

"I like hearing them, and besides, I can't sleep."

He rolled over to face her, his arm tucked under his head. He stroked a pattern on the blanket beside her, small traces that her eyes riveted to.

"Their festivities will be in full swing by now," he said, absentminded.

She perked at that. "You mean a party?"

"Of a sort. Our people are known to celebrate before battle."

She was wistful. "I wish I could see."

He was quiet a long moment. "Do you wish to? Perhaps I can take you." An about-face, one that tinged with apology.

"Yes!" She amended, "Please, I'd love to go."

She sat up in the bed, ignoring the fall of the blanket to her lap. Jareth's eyes flickered over her briefly, though she didn't cover herself in her excitement.

He reached out his hand to her bare arm. "You must not say a word to anyone, not now, not ever. Their whereabouts are a secret."

"I've been there before."

"Yes, that is what I am afraid of."

"It will stay a secret, I promise."

He nodded. "Then you'd better get dressed. It only gets more wild as the night progresses. I wouldn't want to stay to that point."

Her fingers fussed with the laces on her gown, fumbling and knotting. Jareth reached over and moved her hands away.

"I'll do it. You're making a mess of it."

"I'm just so excited."

He smiled at her. Sarah trembled, as much from his lean fingers whispering over her skin as for what the night would bring. She tipped up on her toes, then back down again, her motions childlike.

He warned, "I'm sure you will be quite bored. There is much talk at these things, boasting and parading around. I don't want you to expect finery like at that ball you went to."

"I hated everything about that ball," she confessed.

"Especially me," Jareth said, grinning.

"Mostly you," she agreed. "But I have since changed my mind. A bit."

"Well, that's a relief, considering you are stuck with me for who knows how long."

"Don't dampen this for me by the reminder," she answered. But there was a grin on her face, lightening her words. "Let's go, already!"

"Get your bow and quiver of arrows."

She nodded. "I'm not sure I would be able to hit anything in the dark."

"No one will know that," he said, watching her run around and gather her things, tie up her hair and fidget when it kept falling.

"Leave it," he said. "It looks better down, and besides, no woman there will have her hair pulled up."

She bit at her lower lip, suddenly bashful. "What will they wear?"

He grinned. "Very little. Should you decide to follow suit--"

"Never mind," she answered, tart. "I should have realized you would goad me."

"I am simply being truthful." He smirked.

She took his hand and pulled him to the door. "Let's go," she said, a second time.

"Very well. Stay by me, and don't wander. Not for anything."

She nodded. "I promise."

******

Sarah held Jareth's hand as they walked through the forest. He kept a quick pace but never so fast that she grew winded. She felt, rather than saw, the excitement build within him as they drew near his people.

He whistled a code to the hidden watchman as they reached the inner woods, the trees in a tangle, the bramble even more so. "How can anyone walk in this?" Sarah asked, pulling the briers away from her skin and clothes.

"That is the point," he answered, and helped her when she was caught once again.

A man, a tall and fair skinned warrior, stepped out of the dark. "Eigh," Jareth said in greeting. "You have become a man since I have been gone."

The warrior frowned, the gravity in his voice showing how young he still was. "The lordling returns, and brings his bride. About time."

Jareth hugged the man. "Sarah, this is my almost-brother, the scamp that used to drag behind me as I went from tent to tent, trying to avoid him."

"The woman have asked after you, Atar, but now that you are taken, maybe I'll have a fighting chance."

"Not a shot," Jareth quipped back, pulling Sarah to his side. He whispered in her ear, "He may be family, but don't trust him. He likes the skirts too much."

She replied, quick, "As do you, my lord, and you haven't chased me off as yet."

He kissed her forehead, quick and honest, making her flush. "I'm glad of it. Come, my people are eager to see you."

The music played around them: the pipes, the fiddle, a twofold of harp, and the harmony of uplifted voice. Dancing progressed around a pit of fire, three deep in a ring, arms linked and feet stomping. A woman came from the crowd, drew near and stopped before them, her face flushed and her hair sweaty from the dance and the nearness of the fire.

"Jareth Atar, my lad," she said, kissing his cheeks lustily. "What brings you near, and with a wife? My poor heart. How you've betrayed me."

Jareth laughed. "Seeing as how you changed my nappies, I should be ashamed, shouldn't I, Rivia?" He drew Sarah near. "My bride." He gave nothing of the lie away.

The woman kissed Sarah on both cheeks. She threaded an arm through hers. "Come, let me steal you."

"Not this night," Jareth said, holding Sarah to him, possessive. "I have just gotten her, and I don't want to let her go."

The older woman cackled. "I know, lad. I should have expected such from you. Why, when you were just a boy, you made the women sing with pleasure."

He chuckled, eyeing Sarah beside him. "I'd like to think I haven't lost that ability in my old age."

Rivia smiled and patted his cheek. "Ach, but you are still a youth, not but a hundred or more years. Just a babe to me." The woman led them to the fire. "Enjoy yourselves, and don't wander. We will want to hear of your exploits in the court."

"Of course." Jareth acknowledged her with a slight bow.

He leaned down to whisper in Sarah's ear. "I told you, they are waiting and watching, each and every one of them. Don't leave my side," he instructed again, "Or they will surely question you in great detail."

She hissed at his predatory reckoning. "I'm not stupid. I've survived being with them before, remember?"

"I don't like to be reminded," he said, calm. "But this is not just a simple celebration. It is a calling to battle. If you are ever found out, we will both be put to ruin."

They were interrupted by Eigh, handing each of them a decanter of wine. "Peach, as always, Atar."

"My thanks." Jareth took a long swig, and Sarah tentatively sipped hers. She whispered to him, "It's strong."

Jareth laughed. "Of course. We don't breed weaklings here."

She took another, longer, sip. She choked. "I hate peach."

He took the mug from her. "It's no matter. Your head will swim if you finish even half of it."

Eigh looked at each of them. "So, Jareth, what made you marry? You were never a man to be faithful, if I do remember correct."

"Love," Jareth answered simply. "You see my wife. She is the most lovely woman I have ever set my eyes on."

"You are obviously smitten. I never thought I'd see the day. Come, the two of you, and dance with us at the ring of fire."

Jareth looked at Sarah. She grinned and nodded. Jareth set aside his wine and took her hand.

"Just jump in. They move fast."

"I can keep up."

She did, though before long she was breathless. The dancers swayed and weaved, the women wearing only short loincloths with their breasts bared, the men nearly as naked. She knew she was overdressed, and she drew away from the fire to unlace her gown.

Jareth pulled next to her. "What are you doing?"

"Going down to my chemise."

"No. Absolutely not."

"It's a good thing you are not my lord-husband," she hissed in happy defiance, doing as she pleased. She reached for the mug handed to her and took a long drought. "This tastes better now that I am so warm from dancing."

"I warn you, Sarah."

His eyes were bright as they watched her, his body very near. He made threat, but the only threat to her was how was she ever going to continue pretending she couldn't have him, when having him was all she thought about?

She defied him again by taking another long sip as she stripped down. Her eyes flared, her face flushed with the heat from the alcohol. She swayed up against him. He pulled her in, tight to his body. They made one line, one form, one spirit. She pulled away, went back into the throng, to dance, to sing, to celebrate.

Sarah had never felt so free.

Jareth watched her from the sidelines. His face admired, and his body reciprocated. She soared with power. He wanted her; it was no question. She understood what other women wanted when they clustered to him. He was animal. He was the very fire that stirred within. And, for this night at least, he was hers.

Eigh made a motion with his palm and the music and dancing stopped. He looked at Jareth and then Sarah, who swayed still, her heart beating fast from exertion.

"My friends," the man said, "My brother Atar returns, and he brings his wife. Salute, all of you, to the wedded couple!"

There were sharp cheers, and sighs of regret from some of the younger women. All celebrated, even those who seemed put out by the marriage.

Eigh continued. "For you this night, the camp will glorify in your love renewal. The tent has been made ready for you." Jareth's face expressed little, but his body tightened. "Come now, and let us all give hurrah, and make their fulfillment a prosperous one. To the tent!"

The chanting heightened to a mad roar. People gathered around Sarah and Jareth, pulling them together, palm to palm, body to body. Jareth tightened his grip around her. Many laughed; a few grunted in their misery.

"For progeny!" the crowd made as one.

Jareth's face was pained. Sarah still felt good from the wine, and danced to her own music, her head swimming. He pulled her to him, whispering in her ear as they were dragged along to the tent. "Just go along. It'll be over by morning." She nodded, her head bobbing from warmth of the drink and the excitement of the evening.

Pushed into the tent, their hands were joined, and words recited. Laughter ensued at the unease that Jareth displayed.

"Look at Atar, as nervous as a groom on his blessed wedding night," some said. "He will bring great power to his children, conceived on this night of bliss."

Jareth peered at Sarah, taking it all in stride. She smiled at him. He sucked in a deep breath. To be with her, on this magical night...if only it could be true.

They were soon alone, the chanting a roar and the dancing resuming outside. An elaborately decorated bed sat in the center of the single room, piled with furs and pillows, the haven of passion that never should be. Jareth tried to keep his distance; Sarah refused to allow him to leave her side. He refused to look at the bed, drawing him in and tempting him. Sarah pulled him near as she dropped back onto the furs, her body sprawled for intimacy.

"Take me, Jareth of Atar. You'd best listen," she cooed, her mouth near his as she leaned up to brush against his stiff body, her lips traveling along his bare chest. "Or everyone will be most angry."

"Sarah," he warned.

"What, my lord-husband? Do you not wish," she paused, giving him a winning smile, "Wish to bed me? I wish to bed you."

"I should have taken the wine away from you. You don't know what you are saying."

Her lips brushed against his small nipple, hovering and plying a featherlight caress. "I know _exactly_ what I am saying. You are delectable, my husband." She giggled.

"And you, my Queen, are drunk."

She placed her thumb and forefinger together in small measurement. "Maybe a little."

He sighed, reminding himself, pleading with himself of how young she was, how little she was aware that her ministrations rubbed him to fire. "You should rest, or your head will make you sick by morning."

"I am _fine,"_ she insisted, rubbing her breasts against his bared chest, her chemise the only barrier between skin and skin. "Now kiss me, my lord, before I tell on you."

She stood in front of him, and then she drew nearer. Body to body, denied completion. She pulled his head down to her, sucking on his lower lip and nibbling gently with her teeth. He trembled, his body ramrod, fists at his side.

"Sarah, please stop. You must stop." He begged, before he couldn't refuse her at all.

"Don't you want me?" she said, hurt plying through.

" _Yes!"_ he bit out, and pulled away. He grabbed her by the shoulders and lowered her to the bed, gentle, so gentle, while his eyes were angry mutiny. He would fulfill his desire on this night, and nothing would stop him. He had waited too long, too long...his body flared with want, with craving, with the gratuity of her silken flesh that now cradled next to him.

His teeth bared in heated desire. He reached for her, her body soft. Her mouth submissive.

Only for a moment...

When Sarah found the mattress, she closed her eyes. And passed out.

Jareth ran a hand over his face, his passion muted in the instant, replaced by a lingering worship of the woman he had come to know. He lowered himself beside her and took her into his arms, cradling her. He kissed her closed eyelids, brushing them over and over in soft caress.

So near. He had almost taken her. It would have meant his destruction, for he cared more than he wanted to admit.

He loved his queen, his father's wife. And he didn't know what he was going to do about it.

******

**Chapter Twelve**

Jareth led Sarah away from his tribe while the people slept, giving a quick wave to the sleepy, yet still alert, watchman, Eigh. Sarah kept her head bowed, distraught within every line of her body.

When they were safely ensconced back in the lodge, she questioned him. "Did we--?"

He shook his head. "No, Sarah. You were not in any shape to have a man."

He cursed himself silently. Not fit, yet he had wanted to take her, to plunge deep inside her moist cavity over and over and over again, until she cried out with fulfillment, until the hot spew left him limp and repleted, not a drop left inside him. He rubbed at his face again, relishing and destroying himself by the thought.

She relaxed, but only slightly. "I'm sorry. I--"

He looked away from her. "You did nothing to be ashamed of. Don't worry."

She lifted her chin. "Yes, I did. I shouldn't have kissed you. I know I probably did more than that, even though you are too polite to say so. I'm very sorry."

He went to her, his face masked from the pain of wanting and not having. He reached out a hand, changed his mind, and then changed it back again. One touch, that was all he needed to sustain. At least for a little while.

"I will always watch over you, protect you the best that I can. That is my promise, my queen."

She lightened at his words, sincere and haunting. "I suppose you must tell of my behavior." Her words held hope he would not, and his answering words did not disappoint.

"I will say nothing, for you did nothing. It is done."

In the many weeks they had been residing in the lodge, Jareth had been a hair's breadth away from fulfilling the vow to his father. But now, nothing could make him do so, at forfeit of his life. Sarah was a beautiful lady, her kindness evident, her warmth a fire in his blood. He would lay down all privilege, his promised kingship for her. Nothing was too great to sacrifice.

She smiled, and his heart ached. "Thank you, Jareth of Atar." She paused, ruminating. "Atar...is that your name from the Gar Nada? They call you that, more so than Jareth."

"It is," he said, bowing in acquiescence, glad of the distraction. "It was from my naming ceremony, when I came of age." He reached down and pointed to a long scar on his thigh. He was still wearing little as he had removed much of his cumbersome clothing when they were dancing along the fire at the battle ceremony.

"This scar you see?" She looked and nodded. "It is from the men's trials, the dance of the Gar Nada warrior."

He left many details out, the pain he had from not measuring up as the man he wanted to become, the half-breed bratling he had relinquished himself into being, the dual-eyed and unwanted child of a fae king and his human mother. His eyes were his evidence: one of his beloved mother, the other heavily dilated and reminiscent of his father.

He continued as if the thoughts didn't rupture inside him, "I conquered my fears, became a warrior, and received my name from the tribe."

Sarah reached out a finger and smoothed it along the scar. He caught his breath. So innocent, her touch. She didn't know how she made him stir, made him burn and pulse.

She said, sympathy in her voice, "It looks like it still hurts."

"It is a reminder, as it is meant to be." He shrugged.

"Of what?"

"That I belong to someone."

She straightened. "The tribe are your true people. How did you end up at my husband's court?"

His voice became harsh. "I was taken while still in my youth."

She cocked her head in question, and he answered, not denying her the truth about his past. "When my mother died." He amended, "Was murdered."

She sucked in a breath. "Horrible! I'm so sorry." Her eyes blurred with tears. For him.

"As am I. For the person that killed her was hired by my own father." Jareth shifted, turned his head away at the memory. At the sharp pain he felt revealing the truth, however bitter. However light he tried to make his words, they scalded.

"I don't understand. Why--"

"She was powerful. More powerful than him. And Hidal the Red, King of the Upper North Kingdom, could never have a bride that outranked him in such a way."

"They never married..." She mused, her eyes soft as they looked upon him, speaking what was obvious, what she already knew and that came to a bright conclusion with his words.

"No. He would never consent to marry a human woman of such rank, with magic beyond his own."

Jareth's bitterness extended out, a wary hand, a cautious serpent ready to strike. "He married you instead, a human scarcely into her adulthood. And I am still not sure why he allowed it to be so." There was no condemnation in his words, just frankness.

"I am a breeder." Blunt in honesty.

"Yes." He nodded at her wisdom in seeing the truth, of the position she had been put in. Her eyes fell, silent in thought.

She said, "What if I can't be that wife? I am not sure I am capable."

"You mean, he is not capable, Sarah." The words lashed out, refusing the consequence, denying nothing. He nodded, speaking what she could not voice. "We are aware of my father's capabilities. Or lack thereof."

She flushed. Changed the subject. "Power. Of what sort did your mother hold?"

The concept seemed foreign to her; a woman with power. Almost unheard of.

"Maia, my mother, was as the ancient world Above had long condemned, a pagan. She gifted me upon her death, some of her greatest abilities." He paused, looked Sarah in the eye, and then shifted his hands. Crystals, brilliant yet volatile, appeared and ran in semi-liquid glory from back of palm to fingertip. Again and again, mesmerizing. He turned one of them, begging Sarah look upon it.

"What is it?"

He shrugged. "Dreams. Illusion. They are mere facade, a facsimile of truth." He looked at her, taunting. "Do you want it?"

"What will it do to me?"

"Show you your desires. Your wishes. Your dreams. Do you have any you crave to see?"

She shook her head. "No." A lie.

"A shame." The crystals disappeared. Sarah looked disappointed, her want warring with her fear.

"Your father knows of this ability?"

Jareth sucked in a deep breath. "He knows. Refuses me for it, for being like my mother. He loved her, you know. And hated her just as much as he hates me."

"Surely not--"

"He calls me Lord Atar. It is a reminder, not a blessing. You will need to understand who you are married to. He is not what you think he is."

She cantered, desperation in her voice. "He has been kind--"

"You will give him what he wants." Jareth paused. "Or I will." He ran a hand over his face, grieved at what he had revealed.

"What do you mean?" Jareth didn't answer. She pressed. "What do you mean, Jareth?"

"It is best you stay an innocent." He turned from her. Discussion ended. His heart wrenched, and the pleasure of coldness returned to his face, preserving him.

She whispered almost inaudibly, and his heart turned over at her need. "I don't want to stay innocent."

He pretended not to hear her. He pretended not to want what she freely offered. He died inside, bit by bitter bit, that he was condemned by his cursed promise to remove that branding from her, and condemned by his heart to care.

******

They were standing together in the kitchen, washing dishes together after a very quiet lunch. Sarah scrubbed and rinsed, and Jareth dried and put away. Neither spoke for a long while, the night before running through each of their minds.

He grinned. "Very domestic, hmm?" It was a break in the silence, cool camaraderie.

"Very." Sarah admitted, a laugh consuming her. "I have never liked chores, really, not even growing up when things were halfway normal Above and my mother was alive. She used to fight me to get me to do them, and sometimes I would run away from her." She giggled. "My mother would be so mad."

Jareth listened, knowing it was something she had to remove from her, and it had nothing to do with the dishes. Sarah continued, softer. "Dad used to say I was for better things. I heard them fighting sometimes, about me. I never understood that what Dad meant was that when I became a woman, I would come Underground." She shrugged. "He was a businessman, even back then."

The dishes were forgotten. Jareth turned to her, his palm braced on the countertop next to them, the other in a near fist by his side. He nodded, urging her on.

Tears blurred her eyes. "So much changed. The war came, destroyed. Mom died, and Dad just became...so different."

"How old were you when you were betrothed?" He knew. The whole kingdom knew, but he needed to have her say it, to realize how she hadn't been given a choice. Not her whole life, relegated to being a naive child, with nothing to waken her adulthood except her sexuality.

"Thirteen." She thought. "It was when I started my menses and--" she turned to him, showing him a scar on her forearm. "--When I got this."

He frowned, taking her arm gently and turning it to and fro in the light. Then he looked at her with a wary caution. Fearing for her, glad for her.

"Sarah, do you know what this scar is? What it means?"

She shook her head. "No. Dad took me to a doctor and they gave it to me. I never thought about it, and I tended to forget about it unless it shifted on me, once I was sent Underground after my betrothal." She shuddered, thinking of her prison. "I hated being isolated, just me and Lil, my handmaid, only Dad visiting every once in a while."

He circled her wrist with his fingers, carefully massaging the skin at the minutely small scar site. He felt it under the skin. Her salvation. Then he laid her arm down on the countertop by the side of his waiting palm.

"When you talked of your father, I used to think how miserable of a man he must be." Jareth explained further. "But he was a canny one. Sarah, truly, do you know what this scar means for you?"

She shook her head again, his repeat questioning making her wonder. Jareth smiled. "It's birth control, under your skin. Outlawed Underground, of course, but I have seen it before. More women here use it than you think."

She gaped. He nodded. "Yes. It is exactly what you think. You will never be able to have children, not while it is implanted in your skin."

"But part of the marriage bargain..." She sputtered. "I am to bear Hidal sons. And my father will benefit from it." She shook her head, comprehending, but slowly. "A large bag of coin, after my consummation, as promised. More when my firstborn son has arrived." She looked at Jareth. "Why would my father do that, knowing what he could have profited from?"

"Perhaps he would have found a way to secretly remove it one day. Who knows." Jareth shrugged. "But I suspect he never intended for you to have to endure children with a man you didn't love and want them with." He took her arm up again, looking closer. "Very unnoticeable, really. And after what you told me of your Great War above, I think your father was desperate to get you where it was safer. Underground."

"I hated him," Sarah admitted. "I really did, for so long. All of the time in the Betrothal House, where I lived from the time I was thirteen until I--" She paused, looking at Jareth with new understanding. "Where I stayed until the consummation was to take place..."

He nodded, urging her to continue. She fought the tears that choked her. "Why, Jareth? Why? I never wanted this. I never wanted to be a wife of a man I can't love. I never wanted any of it!"

He took her in his arms, comforting her and rocking her like the child she used to be, the child she had never had a chance to be. "Easy, kitten." He muttered near her ear, soft words and softer touch, her back, her hair, her temple. So light, it was barely there. But she felt each finger on her skin, every movement, and she kept hope inside.

Hope that should never be. Hope that could destroy her. He stepped away, his body and hers joined by the undercurrent that ran between them. Not touching. But very, very aware.

Jareth coughed, his movements candid but his words careful. "The women I have..." He hesitated, shame riding along his face. "I have been intimate with." Sarah raised her head swiftly, to listen, as he did with her. He continued, matter of fact.

"I made sure they were using similar contraception. I never wanted to be a father. Not of a bastard child. Not like me."

"Oh, Jareth."

She didn't condemn. How could she? She had been bartered as a wife, and secretly, she never wanted to be a mother. Not in the circumstance she had been forced into.

"I like children." He was quick to tell her, his deepest thoughts spilling out in their moment of revelation. He shook his head. "I even thought maybe I would marry one of them, just because I saw nothing better to do." He scoffed at his folly. "Nothing better..." His face pained. "I have been a fool, a great fool."

She listened, just as he had. "I never loved any of them. And there were so many--" His face contorted. "I'm sorry, Sarah."

She breathed in deep. He turned fully to her, taking her wrist back in his hand. He rubbed at her skin, then he shuddered a deep sigh.

"It's the past. Like yours. We can't change it. We can only go on from here."

She nodded. It was dangerous ground they tread. Better to digress than to explore it fully.

They turned back to the dishes, the water chilled. Their hearts filled with warmth, their minds whirring frantically.

******

They received the message later that afternoon that Sarah was required back at the castle by her husband and king. Their time together was over, and the future promised nothing but gloom for them.

Sarah brushed off the velvet of her gown, pinned her hair up, and carefully painted her face with the cosmetics mandatory for court. Her hands shook frantically, a trapped bird in a small cage.

Jareth gathered her bow, the quiver of arrows, and placed them with loving attentiveness across the pommel of the horse that had been sent to carry them back.

In silence, each craved the solitude of the lodge, for they knew they wouldn't have opportunity to share the peaceful together of before, once back in the castle. If anything, they would rarely see the other, Jareth a bachelor lord, and Sarah a queen with an attendant always in place.

He secured the lodge, shutting windows, locking doors, and then they stood in the small sheltered hallway, examining the other in secret reflection. Sarah fiddled with her fingers, and Jareth kept his gaze carefully at the temple of her hairline.

"I wish--"

"Do you think--"

They spoke as one, grinning in maniacal pardon at the infraction, their last to be had. Jareth gestured for Sarah to continue, but she shook her head. No, not now. When, if ever? Neither spoke, each prayed in mantra. Please, please, please, let me see her...him, again. Their eyes met, longed, refused.

A banging came at the door. Alastair, their companion on the journey home. Home. Court was anything but, for each of them. The lodge had fulfilled that ambiguous claim, the exiled refuge of two lost souls.

"Hey, you coming?" the red-haired man called through the door. Bang, bang, bang. "It'll be dark soon, and you know we can't have the queen travel in the forest at night."

Sarah tipped up on her toes. Kissed Jareth, softly and reverently on his newly shaven cheek. "Thank you, Atar, for keeping me from harm."

He bowed his head slightly, his jawline taut. "Of course, for you--anything, my Queen." _His queen..._

He reached for the doorknob, turned and yanked it open. Stepped outside. Sarah ready to follow him once she caught her composure, their reverie at a close.

Alastair grinned at Jareth. "Good to see you, alive and thriving. Won't the women be glad you are to return? I have had fun keeping your place, though." He coughed as he saw Sarah behind the blond man. "My Queen, beg pardon!" He bowed, his head to his knees.

She hid a smile. "Please rise, Lord Drem. No need for formality while away from the court."

He shifted with ill ease. "Of course, Your Majesty."

Jareth cupped his palms, waiting for Sarah's boot to boost her atop her horse. Their last touch. Better to forget. Better to just resume status as a lady and her menial courtier.

They rode together, Sarah in front of Jareth, his arms loose around her as he held the reins, keeping his actions within protocol's demands. She kept her back straight and tight, not leaning back to him, not eschewing her role as queen. They did not converse. Lord Drem kept the conversation going, though only on occasion did Jareth reciprocate with a phrase or two, muttered halfheartedly.

The castle loomed in the distance, pinnacles of white and gray, flags at high mast celebrating Sarah's arrival. Courtiers lined the cobbled streets, shaking tokens in the air to garner the queen's attention. She nodded at appropriate moments, gave a cursory wave or two. Somehow the pomp paled in comparison to the festivities the night before, the dancing, the wine and the tent of hopeful lovemaking.

She wished she had gained Jareth's attention enough so that she could relinquish her prized virginity. She didn't want it anymore, not if it could belong to him.

The point was moot. He would return to his ladies of the court, give them the lovemaking she wished she could have. Bask in their glory. For an extreme moment, she hated each and every potential woman. How could he refuse them, even after what he said, when they were throwing themselves so pointedly at him?

Jareth shifted behind her. She sat up straighter. Now that she knew some of his past, she knew he wouldn't want to return to the castle. Yet he did, for her. She would whisper into her husband's ear and beg for a hint of mercy and benevolence for the forgotten son. Maybe the king would grant him absolution, or perhaps allow a gift for his favor in watching over her.

It was the least she could do.

The castle opened its doors. They rode inside and dismounted, going through to the deep of the castle, the light from the inner courtyard's high vaulted windows and lit sconces shining like a beacon down upon them as they walked through to return the queen to her lord and master.

******

**Chapter Thirteen**

Hidal the king of the Upper North Kingdom announced a series of balls for his bride, Sarah of the House of Williams. She may have been a human commoner, picked as queen from the wastelands of the Above, but her beauty, her winsome innocence and her humble demeanor drew the court to her. She was beloved, and Hidal was her most ardent admirer.

Jareth was miserable.

It seemed his father had about-faced when it came to Sarah; he appeared to truly care about her. Jareth had little opportunity to talk with her, and he had yet to explain the horrid deal he had made with the king.

Maybe none of it mattered. She smiled. She laughed. The king draped jewels on her neck and fingers and in her hair. She gave no evidence of being unhappy.

Until their eyes met in the midst of the court, her hand in another, her steps light and practiced in an ancient dance. Paused on him before they skirted away. He wanted to believe she remembered. That nothing had changed except their surroundings.

He had to talk with her. He would talk with her.

Alastair crowded in and cornered him as Jareth moved forward. "What do you think you are doing? Are you mad?"

"Out of my way."

"Nope."

"Out. Of my. Way."

Jareth bit out his words in depressive anger. His friend had better move or lose the hand that reached out to stop him.

Alastair put a halting hand on his shoulder. "I know you think you are in love. I can see it. Damn, probably the whole court sees it." His friend persuaded, in vain. "Your position in court is small. Do you really think you have anything to offer a queen?"

Jareth frowned and threw off the hand that dared to stop him. "I thought you were my friend, not a foe."

"I am a friend."

The lower lord handed Jareth a goblet of wine, enticing him to reconsider. Hell, maybe to get drunk. Jareth grabbed at it. Peach. It tasted different, sweeter. Like mead in his mouth. Like he imagined Sarah would taste.

Alastair warned, "You'd better get that look off your face. Stubborn fool." He grabbed back the wine. "Do you want to end up in the dungeon for your stupidity?"

"Better there than here, where I am tortured watching her." Jareth jerked another goblet into his palm. It seemed he was always getting wasted at his father's affairs.

"Get over it. You can't have her. She's married, and to your father, no less."

Jareth growled, a warning animal cry. "I know! I don't need you to remind me of that." He prowled the edge of the ballroom, his friend following at a steady pace. The voice of unwanted rationality.

"Someone needs to snap you to reason," Alastair said, pointedly and matter of fact. He gestured to a woman near them. "Take Gloriana. You've bedded her and liked it many, many times, as I recall. Have another taste of her and see that your devotion to the Queen Sarah doesn't diminish."

"You know nothing." Jareth looked at the mentioned woman. She wore heavy court makeup and her hair was lackluster and pale as wheat colored straw. She wasn't Sarah.

"Come, man. We have much sport to accomplish. Why waste your efforts on someone you can't have?"

"I can have her. I just have to get close enough."

Jareth spotted Sarah in another dance. Smiling her brilliant smile. Laughing like her dance partner was the most humorous person in the room. Making his heart ache and cringe.

"You are wasting your time." Repeated, like an angel at his shoulder, or a demon of impish delight.

"So you've said. I heard you."

"Then listen." Alastair paused, his voice shrewd, growing another tactic to use. "Did you tell her? Does she know?"

"No." Succinct. Daring challenge.

"She won't take it well."

"No."

He didn't want to hear the truth. The truth, as it was told to him, had never been anything but a lying, miserable ploy to keep him removed from what he truly wanted in his life. And Jareth had never wanted anything as much as he wanted Sarah.

"Perhaps--"

Jareth turned in vicious parlay. "Do you aim to tell her?"

"No. But I think you should." Lord Drem shrugged. "It will get out eventually, anyway. Court gossip is a bitch."

Jareth sighed. "I want to."

"Then?" Alastair folded his arms, still trying to detour Jareth's determined folly.

"She'll hate me."

Alastair drew the obvious to light. "So be it. It was foolish of you to trust your father. Do you really think he does anything for your benefit?"

"I will be king." It was faint. Uninspired.

"No." His friend shook his head. "You will never be king. And you won't win. So give up now, while you still have a head on your shoulders."

Jareth grinned, a maniacal madness. "I never cared for my head, anyway." He moved forward. Alastair had done nothing but motivate. Jareth was a warrior, after all.

******

Sarah watched him from the corner of her eye. He had a dangerous glint about him, reckless, abandoned. She wasn't sure she had ever seen Jareth lose control but he now seemed hell bound to do so.

He moved in her direction. She cursed lightly under her breath.

"You said, my dear?" Hidal asked, his arms binding her in their dance.

She shook her head. "It was nothing. A tickle in my throat."

Her husband nodded in understanding. "I have felt under the weather myself this evening. Perhaps I may excuse myself, and hand you off to another?"

She nodded, not caring who the other man may be. They were all the same: stuffy, self-important peacocks with nothing interesting to say.

She had become very used to pretending, but then again, she had been groomed for dissembling, telling sweet little lies and wearing a mask of make-believe. The careful facade went into place. She would be chastised if she were rude or indifferent to the men she danced with. It was a role, and she knew it well.

Then Jareth's arm went around her and his palm gripped hers, leading her in the seductive sway of the waltz that had begun. He leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"How are you enjoying the ball, my queen? Interesting?"

Simple words. Innocent. Nothing to make anyone wonder about their erroneous intent.

"Very." A sheer retort, weighing of air and little substance, intricately weaved.

He laughed, his head thrown back in abandon as he crowned her carefully worded lie. "I hope your boredom doesn't extend to me."

Her lips trembled in a small grin. He exposed to her the farce of the elaborate ball, of the costumed dancers and the parading sycophants that crowded around. He wasn't anything like them. She had to fight to keep her personality guarded from the charade as well. People wanted so much to change her.

"I will reserve my judgment on that." She flirted, a tool in her training, but never used until now.

He disapproved, looking at her with a sternness that only her teachers had ever shown her, not chastising the flirtation but the falseness of it. She wasn't meant to be that courtier that spewed pretty words that were meaningless.

"Well done, Sarah. You have been well taught." His gentle chide caught her in the belly.

"I'm sorry." She shook her head. "I shouldn't pull that trick on you. You know me too well."

"Indeed I do. But you flirt so prettily. Especially when you use me as your target."

Sarah laughed, and he joined her, his smile letting her know she had been forgiven. "Archery." She groaned dramatically. "I will never escape the learning of it, not while you live and give breath, will I?"

"Never." He gripped her tighter, closer than the dance entailed. He teased, "But I have been told that I am nothing but hot air, anyway." He mocked himself, and she liked him better for it. He was never one to give criticism without making himself part of it.

He swung her in a circle, her skirts swirling out from the move. He was an excellent dancer, taking the lead as he did in all things.

He whispered to her again. "Lord Gepp." She cast her eyes sideways to the man he mentioned, a skeleton of a man with a white beard. Jareth continued, his breath warm against Sarah's cheek. "He has found a new lover." Sarah saw the woman mentioned, a portly brunette with wide hips and a wider smile. She wondered at his sudden interest in the courtiers, but then Jareth added the clincher, mischievous in his deadpan delivery. "His wife found her first, though."

Her laugh echoed out across the room, making others look at who was dancing with the queen to make her so amused. Arched brows grew in judgment. Jareth of Atar, the bastard son, breaking protocol and the quiet reserve that a royal should always have.

Jareth whispered in her ear. "I think we have created an audience. They wonder how it is I amuse you. Shall we continue?"

"Yes." She smiled up at him. He was ornery, and she loved every bit of his wicked naughtiness. "Please."

"Well, since you beg so nicely."

He swept her along slowly in a dance that was meant to be shared in a group and danced swiftly, the waltz having ended two songs previous. The people around them were forced to imitate the slow-moving queen, and she heard quiet grumbles about a presumptuous Jareth of Atar.

"I'm still not used to people watching my every move," she confessed. "And I fear that you have claimed an abundance of dances from me. People talk, you know."

"Let them. May their tongues wag like puppies' tails." He smiled, only holding her to him more, leading her confidently around the room in sweeping moves. "I hope you never become jaded," Jareth said, sincere, the teasing gone. "You are not like them."

"Neither are you. We have that in common."

He squeezed her hand in a small caress. "That among other things."

*****

No one could fault their words, as it should be. They were simply two people sharing a dance. But to each of them, the rules of conduct broke into tiny jagged pieces and neither wanted to clean the fallen debris.

Jareth spoke in a wanton code he knew Sarah was too innocent to truly comprehend. He longed to teach her, and he reveled in the thought of one day being her pupil in a lustful play of love.

He looked at her, his intentions like a written scroll for all to read. He tried to rein himself in. She was too precious to have negative talk spread about her. He tested it just by claiming her as his partner for so many dances.

He wanted her so much he was shaking. He tried to steady himself; he was like a schoolboy, randy and full of brazen. He calmed himself, silencing more than his body. If he were to speak he would reveal to her his feelings. And by the great Unknown, she would run away from him right on the dance floor.

They turned and moved as one. Neither spoke for many moments, enjoying the feel of palm on palm. Dangerous innocence.

Sarah smiled at him as they turned about the room. She was exquisitely sincere, not given to snobbery like her peers. He stared and stared at her, wonder filling him. Finally she broke the silence.

"Gloriana of Trent."

"What about her?" Curious yet amused.

"She seems ready for whatever the night may bring." It was a two-fold comment, one ripe with disapproval.

Jareth smoothed his words against her temple. "She is ready. But she will prove to be disappointed."

"Oh?" Stagnant pause, "Why?"

Jealousy made her question him. He sopped it up, and only craved her more. In lush succulence, his mouth moved over her temple as he answered.

"She is not my desire." Simple words. Weighted meaning.

"And what is your desire?" She played with fire, right in the middle of the dance floor. He shifted, his body strongly reacting again where he had just calmed it.

"I think you know, my queen."

Her breath caught by his words. Even in her inexperience, she caught a glimpse of his meaning. Jareth had never hid his attraction for her. Sexual and driven and hers alone, he hoped she would one day understand the full extent of which she owned him.

She flushed, and stared up at him wide-eyed. "I feel dizzy." She paused mid-step.

He was immediate concern. "It's hot in here. Let me get you some air."

He led her to the open balcony doors, out on the portico. She fanned herself with her lightweight dance card. Jareth removed it from her hands, intending to tease. Then he looked at it and frowned.

"Why has Lord Drem claimed so many dances?" he asked, irritated. Jealousy now tainted him.

"He is a robust dancer," Sarah said with mischief in her voice, as the cool night brought an end to Jareth's very adult insinuations and she relaxed again. "I watch my toes when with him."

"He is presumptuous."

"Why do you say so?" She tilted her head in question.

Jareth hid his worried expression from her. If she knew of what he and Alastair had discussed before he had begun to dance with her, her whole demeanor would change.

She laid her hand on his forearm, still asking of him her question. "He seems pleasant enough company."

"His company is what I am afraid of." He handed her back the card, noticing she tried to hide a smile from him. She thought he exaggerated. Jareth expanded his warning. "He is full of stories. I'm sure you'll know that he is mostly a bag of wind."

"I have been able to escape his longer tales," she said, walking over to the railing and looking over.

Jareth joined her. People came and went, three more dances elapsed, and still she hovered near him. He felt triumphant. She was choosing him, even if only for the moment.

A man came and stood near them, tugging at his waistcoat and coughing politely. Jareth turned to the man.

"Go away. Can't you see she is tired?"

The man left, muttering and coughing in wicked interpretation of Jareth's claim. Jareth tugged at his waistcoat. Justice done.

"You can't chase all of my partners away." Her grin was full-fledged.

He smiled, predatory. "That is exactly what I plan on doing."

"Jareth--"

He reached for her. She shook her head and he slowly dropped his hand.

"We can't stay out here all night."

"Sarah--"

She inhaled a deep breath, reiterating. "No, Lord Atar. We can't."

He frowned, hating the name on her lips when it came with denial. He spoke from the heart, skipping past the words of love to the immediacy of what he felt. He spoke sotto voce, a near whisper that only she could hear.

"I just want you to remember."

"I remember everything."

Her words encouraged him. He leaned in, a desperation and mad flurry in his heart. He made his second mistake with her that night. He began to push.

"I want to meet you."

She stepped back, growing a distance between them. "I am not Gloriana. Find someone else to warm your bed," she snapped, her voice tart, misinterpreting his intention. He meant no disrespect but he realized immediately it sounded like a call only to sleep with her.

"Do you mean that?" Grim and disappointed. He didn't want that pale haired wench of a woman; he wanted only Sarah. He was ready to make his third mistake and kiss her senseless.

She whispered. "No. I don't mean anything." Her eyes filled with sensitive tears.

"Don't cry Sarah," he said, handing her a smooth linen to wipe her cheeks. "You have been so brave."

"I don't want to be brave." She inhaled sharply at the admission as if fearing he would use it against her. When he didn't, she added, "I wish we could go back."

He nodded, beginning to gush. "I have thought of all the ways to steal you and take you back to the lodge. To take you back into the forest with my people. To see you dance again by the fire."

He drifted off in embarrassment. It was a near declaration, and dangerous. She handed back the handkerchief; he pressed it to his lips, losing discretion in the action, and then tucked it into the breast of his jacket. She watched him with open eyes, then she shuttered them carefully.

"We can't."

"I know." He groaned, debated, and tortured himself. Now, now, tell her now. He asked for her continued attention. "Sarah, I have something I--"

They were interrupted by a determined Lord Drem, who refused to budge from before them. "My lady," he said, bowing and darting a quick warning frown to Jareth. "I believe we have a dance."

Sarah smiled, and tossed one last look over to Jareth. "Several, Lord Drem."

"Then, shall we?" He didn't wait for her response. He stole her away, and for the second time that night Jareth was ready to eradicate his friend.

He had almost told Sarah everything. And he didn't care of the repercussion.

*****

**Chapter Fourteen**

Lilith ripped open the curtains, turning the room from night to blaring of day. Sarah groaned and rolled over, covering herself with the blankets.

"Out of bed, my lady."

"No." A mumble.

"You are about to have a visitor shortly and you will want to look your best." Lilith sing-song her words, laying out a dress that was plain but well-fitted.

"Who is it?" Still under the covers, Sarah's words were indistinct.

"Um, Jareth of Atar." Lil gushed. "That beautiful man. Now I'll get to see him up close."

Sarah ripped the blankets off her head and bolted upright, her hair a tangle around her flushed face. "Tell me everything, Lil, and don't leave anything out!"

"I thought that would get you moving." Her handmaid brought out the hairbrush and started in on Sarah's long hair while they talked. "Well," she started, her words voluptuous with heady gossip. "Lord Atar was seen talking with Gloriana of Trent last evening. _Late_ last evening."

"Go on." Displeasure clouded the short phrasing.

"She walked into his private rooms and didn't come out again for over fifteen minutes."

"So?" Her body stiffened in spite of her nonchalance.

Lilith shook her head. "Do you know how much can happen in a short fifteen minutes?" Then she shook her head. "No, of course not." She clucked her tongue but her eyes shot with amusement.

"Why is he coming here?" Hope filled.

"That is the delicious part of the story. Lord Drem was also seen with Gloriana of Trent, alone--"

"Hmm, she certainly knows how to work her way through the lords."

"Jealous? Well, you needn't be." Sarah waited. Lil crowed, "Lord Atar had not only kicked her from his rooms, he threw her dress out the window in retaliation for bothering him."

Sarah gaped. "She was naked?"

She fought a giggle, as much from glee at Jareth's actions as the image running through her mind. How Gloriana Trent had been given just desserts for making intentions known to Jareth of Atar! He had expressed his distaste of the woman to Sarah, and Sarah was too glad of it. Lilith continued her story, growing more and more exuberant.

"Yes! All through the corridors. That is when Lord Drem ran into her and offered to escort her into privacy. They still haven't come from within his rooms, and this a quarter past nine in the morning." Lilith's voice ran rapid-fire with the news. "I imagine both of them will be most tired this day."

Sarah ignored what she didn't fully comprehend. She got to the point. "What of Jar--I mean, Lord Atar?"

"He spent the rest of the night making a fuss with the woman that handles your schedule, wanting to be put in for an audience and when she wouldn't grant it, on account of him being a bastard--"

"Lil..." Sarah warned, not liking the term from her maid's lips.

"Sorry, it is just what was said. Anyway, he snuck into your wing of the castle and has been camping out since early this morning, when I found him outside your bedroom door."

"You mean he's already here!" It was a near shriek. "I must dress--I'm as naked as the day I was born."

"Though by my judgment, I doubt he would care," Lilith giggled.

Sarah leapt out of bed, the covers tangling on the floor. "Hand me my underthings, and my dress," she said, staggering on one foot, then the other, as she pulled on her satin stockings, tying them with a ribbon garter. "Oh, Lil, lace me! Quick, quick, Lil."

They made ready work of the ties. Sarah ran a brush through her hair once more, brushed her teeth and rinsed her face. "How much time do I have?"

"Not much."

An amused voice came from the doorway. Jareth. He leaned against the wall, muscular arms crossed against his lean chest, watching Sarah as she scrubbed at her skin.

"Careful, precious, or you'll wash your face clean off."

She blushed. "How long--"

"Not long enough to see anything." He grinned. "Damn..."

Lilith hovered long enough to catch her quick glimpse, then she curtsied, waggling her eyebrows at Sarah as she departed. Jareth came further into the room.

"Interesting woman, your handmaid."

Sarah fought for small talk, trying to make normal his presence. They had once shared a bed, but here in the castle of her husband, Jareth seemed larger than life.

"She is my best friend, even if she is a notorious gossip."

"And flirt, it seems."

Sarah's brows lowered in chagrin. "Oh?"

"Nothing you have to worry about. I have my eyes on other matters."

"I wasn't worried." She pretended nonchalance.

His smile bordered on full out smirk. "Aren't you even going to ask why I raided your bedroom? Honestly, Sarah, I'm shocked at you for letting me in so easily."

"I didn't let you in at all." She lifted her chin, almost giving in to a smile.

His eyes smoldered as much as his smoky baritone voice. "Well, now that I'm here..."

"What do you want, Jareth?" Her voice was pert, sassy, and she knew he approved by the grin on his face.

"Loaded question, and so many, many ways I could answer." His teasing stopped. "But let me begin with the necessities." He sighed, reluctant to speak. "I'm going away."

"You...you are?"

He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Yane sent me word just last night, not long after the ball had begun in full swing."

"Oh..." She followed. "Oh!"

He nodded. "Yes. It has begun." The battle of the rebels...

"What will you do?"

Jareth looked at her a long moment before he answered. "That depends on you."

"How so?"

He sat on the edge of her bed, distracting himself for a moment by bouncing on it a few times, testing the softness. He turned to her, serious again.

"I need someone within the castle to report to me, and the only one here I completely trust is you." He looked her up and down, measuring her capabilities and finding her intact. "The king is fond of you. You are the only one that can get close enough to him without arousing suspicion."

"I haven't much weight with the king." She doubted, but he shook his head at her insecurity.

"You have more than you realize, and the courtiers underestimate you. You can hide your deception in full sight, and none will be the wiser. You are the only one that can gain all the information we need."

She inhaled deeply, nodded. "What do I do?"

"You are amazing, you know that?" He frankly admired her.

She blushed and he continued. "You don't even question the how or why. I don't think anyone has ever had such faith in me or my people before."

"Of course I believe..." Her face had set into a brilliant rose hue in her embarrassment, her voice fading out.

He stood, came to stand in front of her and lowered his lips to the top of her head, kissing her gently through her hair. "That is why you are perfect for the mission."

Looking at her with a bemused and tender expression, he kept his palms on her upper arms, running his fingers along her skin. She shivered.

He shook his head, as if clearing it from whatever thoughts passed through his mind. He pulled away, his motion sharp, leaving her sadly bereft.

He began to pace, his motions fidgety and his words staccato in detail. "Every private letter sent to the king, you must read it as soon as you are possibly able. It can't pass on to a messenger without my knowing." The words worried over his lips, his mouth sternly tight as he explained. "He isn't prone to getting direct correspondence without it going through his secretary. If it does go straight to his Majesty, it's vitally important."

She nodded understanding, and he continued.

"Any ball or gathering, you must attend, gaining and compiling information from the attendees. Fill your dance card." He allowed a grin in the midst of the detail. "You never seem to have an issue with that, I've discovered."

For unbeknownst reason, her eyes began to mist. It sounded like he was never returning, his words marking finality.

He continued pacing, not noticing her distress. "Interview the servants. They know more about the inner workings of the castle than anyone." He turned to her with urgency. "Trust no one, Sarah. Reveal nothing." He lowered his brows, intent and imploring. "Sarah," he stopped, staring at her as if she gave him the very air necessary for him to breathe. "I will come for you, when the time is right."

"It's a bit...overwhelming." She tossed her fears and her emotion to the wayside. She forced herself to listen and remember.

"I'm glad you see it. But you are up to the challenge. There is no one I would believe in more to do this job." He paced, stopped, paced some more. "You, as queen, have the king's ear. You are invisible as a woman, yet powerful in your position as her Majesty. No one can refuse to answer your queries, and no one would dare confront you about anywhere you happened to be within the castle walls."

She nodded. It did make sense.

He came to stand in front of her, his stance hesitant. He seized on his doubt, scooping her to him and brushing his mouth across her lips, soft and sweet, the merest taste. One kiss and then his arms were tight around her. He made her look at him, his voice brooking no defiance.

"Never," he said, his voice like crystallized glass, "Never put yourself into harm's way. I don't care if you are about to win our war for us, you must never, never knowingly put yourself into danger."

She nodded. A tear spilled down her cheek, where he caught it with his forefinger and smoothed it away.

"And Sarah," Jareth paused. She looked at him expectantly. "I will come for you," he repeated, urgent. "Make no mistake about that." He forced a grin. "We have unresolved business, you and I. I intent to claim my reward for returning alive. You will offer me that boon, won't you, kitten?"

She nodded, unable to speak. He kissed her fingertips and looked at her face, searching it like he wanted to memorize every freckle, each small line.

He looked to the door and he pulled away from her, giving their bodies distance. "Your handmaid is coming. I must go. Remember, trust no one."

"I promise." The words were clogged with tears she held back as best she could.

He looked at her one last time as he reached the bedroom entrance. Longing, so that she choked up in emotion again at his gaze. "We will talk more. Later. When I return."

She nodded. Her body racked with sobs that wouldn't cease. He was leaving, and she knew that despite what he promised, he may not come back. It was a war, and she knew what happened when men fought amongst themselves: it was ugly and few survived.

When the door shut behind him, she whispered prayerfully. "Jareth, come back to me. Please, just come back to me."

******

**Chapter Fifteen**

Hidal the Red met with his advisers and closest courtiers in a secondary banquet room for dinner. Sarah sat by his side, mostly idle, throwing in an appropriate comment every hour or so. No one cared what she thought.

Her husband suddenly became animated in his speech and she forced herself to pay attention. "Those damned rebels are going from village to village, taking the men who support them and killing the rest. No mercy, they have." He began to shout, and the other men joined in the fray.

"No respect!"

"They will come after the castle next, damn them all!"

"The king must gather an army..."

Sarah put her hand on her husband's forearm. "Your Majesty, please say it isn't so."

He forced a smile. "I'm afraid so. You will have to curtail some of your activities until we have beaten them down. No worries, my wife."

She nodded, but her mind raced in thought. Jareth was in the middle of those village takeovers. She forced herself to pay attention to the conversation, when all she wanted to do was scream with fear and frustration. Then, his name came up, and she rocked forward to listen.

"Have you seen the bastard son?"

There was raucous laughter. "I saw him, charming his way through the court ladies. Last seen talking with Lord Gepp's daughter." More laughter. "We won't see him for a while."

"Whoring his way through life." The older adviser clucked his tongue. "Wish I were young again."

Hidal brushed off the comments. "He will show up eventually, drunk and sated. He is a wastrel, and not to be trusted with any of our women." But there was a hint of pride in his voice, and Sarah stood, unable to take anymore.

"Please, may I be excused, my lord?"

"Indeed. Delicate ears, befitting a queen." He kissed her open palm, and for the first time, Sarah was disgusted by him. He had never spoken so openly in her presence, and she found his conversation revolting.

She stumbled her way to her chambers, and upon shutting the door, she fell sobbing into Lilith's stunned arms. "I hate him, I hate him!"

She lied, but her sensitivity became the better over her. She sniffled, wanting consolation.

Her handmaid, acting only as friend, held Sarah until she became coherent. "Who? Oh..."

"Jareth of Atar!"

"What have you heard?"

The quiet question made Sarah pause. "He is been seen with Lord Gepp's daughter, and they all know what he is doing with her."

"Do you know what he is doing with her?" It was a pointed query.

"Yes, something horrid that I'll never forgive him for!"

"Sarah." Lilith jerked Sarah back from her roughly, slapping her face in light retort, gaining her full and immediate attention. Her friend had never acted violent towards her before.

"What--"

"You of small faith." Lilith shook her head. "You should know better."

"I do, I just..."

"You have given up too easy, letting words sway you." Her friend chastised, though Sarah had already begun to do so to herself. "What do _you_ think is happening with Lord Atar and the daughter of Gepp?"

"He is...he is..." She faded. She sighed. "Nothing."

"Nothing is right. He would never, not with any of them. Give the man more credit."

"You are very approving of him."

"Well..." Lil tossed a smile. "He is the most beaut--"

Sarah finished. "The most beautiful man you know, yes, I have heard."

"Then perhaps you have heard about Lord Gepp's daughter, as well." Lil steered her back on topic.

"No." Sarah shook her head, ashamed. "I know nothing about the woman. She is very quiet, and unlike the other courtiers."

"You should make yourself aware. There is much you don't know, and even more you need to understand." Sarah looked at her, feeling very tiny in significance. Lilith snapped, giving further reproof.

"She is an informant. For the rebel cause." Lil shook her head, disapproving. "Your jealousy can get you nowhere. And besides, Jareth of Atar is a free man. Who he beds--"

"Should be me!" Sarah opened her mouth in surprise at her own admittance, not at all shocked by her friend's chastisement. She deserved it, after all.

Lilith smiled, triumph in her gaze. "Of course. I have been telling you that for some time. But Sarah, do you think you can begin to have faith in him?"

"I do."

Her maid's sternness expanded into full fledged condemnation. "Then act like it. He is counting on you."

Sarah realized her folly in trusting even her handmaid, a realization late in coming, and she grimaced. "What do you know, Lil?" Slightly suspicious, but worded carefully so as to not offend the woman.

"Too much. I am a servant in the king's high court, after all. We see all and reveal nothing."

"He would be displeased with me."

"Yes. And he deserves to be. You must curtail your emotion. It's too important to stay sober at this important time in the Underground."

"Are you...?" Sarah paused, unsure. She had given too much away in her fury, and she tried to rein in her words. "With them?"

Lil stood proud. "We all are, us servants. It is a long time in coming, and the revolt will conquer."

"I'm scared." She admitted it without thought of how it sounded. Perhaps Jareth had been hasty in believing in her and her mercurial sensibilities.

"Snap out of it. And quick. Your mission is too vital for holding on to childish fancy and whim."

Sarah stared at her handmaid with new eyes. "Who _are_ you, Lil?"

"That..." her handmaid said, her sass coming back full force, "Is for you to determine." She sashayed from the room, giving Sarah one last wink.

******

Sarah connived, snuck, stole, and parlayed her way into the courtier’s conversations. She hadn’t heard from Jareth personally, but through the servants, who did indeed know the whole inner workings of the castle, he was said to be raiding on the outskirts of the kingdom.

He had given her a chance at freedom, and the cause of it surprised even her. Deception came naturally to her. She was a master spy. No one suspected her; it was as Jareth assumed. A woman was unheard in the Twelve Kingdoms, and with the exception of the few, females said little to undermine that position. She made many acquaintances, but no one save Jareth managed to sense the inner Sarah, making it through to her heart.

Now she understood why women were so promiscuous in the land. It was the only way to reach a measure of power over a man, for as Lil instructed her, never was a male more vulnerable than after when he attainedhis climax.

“If a woman is truly smart about it,” Lil said, tucking Sarah’s hair up with pins, “She will wait until she gets what she wants out of a man before sleeping with him. A horny man is a desperate man, mark my words.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Lilith stood back and praised her handiwork. “The time will come when you’ll see it for what it is. And you’ll find the man to satisfy your heart and your body both.”

“In case you have forgotten, I’m married.” Sarah pointed at her bracelet manacles and the anklets on her, the gift from her husband on the night he should have consummated their union. “I have been marked.”

“Not really, as I’ve said before.” Her handmaid’s gaze sharpened. “You will taste it all one day, and it won’t be with that man you call lord.”

Sarah grunted. She wished, hoped, begged, but it came to nothing. She had been sold, her virginity of such prize that her father abandoned her. Virginity she would rid herself of, but not willingly with the man she had been given to.

She longed for another, and he was off fighting his war. She fought it with him, the castle where she mentally besieged, safe from the skirmish of the battle zone. He stayed constant in her thoughts, for she did it all for him.

She stood, brushing an errant hair back from her temple. “Have you heard--”

“Not since you last asked, just this morning. Nothing. But no news is good news.”

“I want to believe that.”

“Believing it will bring him back.” Lil gave a quick pat-down of Sarah’s garment, removing the last wrinkles from the skirt. “There. Good enough to nibble on.”

“I hope not.”

“You’ll see.” Her handmaid curtsied and left the room, Sarah making her way to follow.

She patted her bosom, where she had a single piece of paper, finely written on in a code only she could understand. Phrases, conversations, and parts of letters she had read. It was safe on her person. She undressed before no one but her handmaid.

She turned, ready to depart her bedchamber. And held back a scream.

Jareth stood against the wall, arms crossed in insolence, staring her down. Hunger in his eyes, but brutal indifference in his face. A careful mask.

“You came back.”

“I promised. And I intend to collect my reward.” He stalked forward. “Hello, Sarah.”

*****

**Chapter Sixteen**

“Jareth,” she breathed. “You’re here.”

“Yes.” He nodded, and stepped forward, stumbled. His eyes were dark and had rings of fatigue under them. “I came, had to see you...”

She gasped. “You’re hurt!”

He held his arm to his side, blood soaking through his tunic. He was dressed as the men of the forest: tight leggings and boots that weren’t heels as he wore in court, but soft and buttery leather, fringe riding the top.

He shook his head. “It’s. Nothing.” He moved forward to her, gasped and then nearly fell into her arms.

She embraced him, her heart raw. He tucked his face into her neck, inhaling and letting her support his body’s weight. One arm went around her waist, the other still clutched his side.

“Let me see you. How hurt are you?”

He shook his head. “A mere. Scratch.” He sucked in a deep breath as she gently moved his arm away.

She glowered at him for his indifference. “I’m calling Lord Drem. He is a healer, of sorts. And your friend.”

He nodded. “Yes...” Jareth kissed her ear. He nearly missed his mark, and Sarah knew that in spite of his attempts not to let her know how badly he was hurt, Jareth was in much pain.

She pulled away only momentarily. He draped against the wall again, letting the surface support him. Sarah scribbled out a quick note and gave it to the attendant at her bedroom door, putting expediency on the secretive message.

“However do you manage to find your way into my room?” She rubbed his hair back from his face where it had escaped the leather tie that held it back. “Jareth, let me put you on my bed.”

“Gladly.” His words were a blurred mumble.

She frowned. His mouth moved to her throat, nibbling and biting gently as she led him the few feet to the mattress. She inhaled, her belly clenching. Even wounded, he filled her senses like water overflowing a river. Heady and swollen.

“Not now,” she said, her tone becoming frantic as she assessed his damage, trying not to let his actions sway her. Where she had held him, her hand came away with blood. “You must lay down.”

“Lay with me.”

“Jareth...” She rested him on the coverlet, and he winced as she brushed against his wound. “Easy.”

“Lay with me. Let me have one chance. Please, Sarah.” In spite of the words being coherent, he was in a sickly ramble.

Her lips went to his forehead. Burning hot. “You’ve a fever,” she said. The door opened and Alastair entered, a bag in his hand.

“This had better be good, Atar.” He said, sweeping into the room looking like he had hurriedly dressed. He looked at Sarah, bowed briefly. “What mess did you get yourself into?” He gasped. “By the Unknown, you’re bleeding!”

Sarah snapped. “Yes, yes. Now can you help him?”

“What happened to you? This is a deep gash--” His eyes narrowed. “You weren’t just with Lady Gepp, were you, you fool.”

Jareth rolled over to his good side, letting his friend pull away the cloth from his skin. He sucked in air, hissing.

“Say nothing, Lord Drem,” Sarah begged. “Please.”

Alastair nodded, taking out bags of herbs and linen wrapping. “Do you have soap and water?”

“Yes.” Sarah went to her wash basin and poured out a healthy measure of liquid, carefully carrying the bowl over then going back for the pitcher.

Alastair washed his hands and then Jareth’s wound, taking care not to pull at the skin. He cursed. “By the Unknown, Jareth,” he said, his voice tense. “What hell have you reckoned with?”

Jareth tossed his head. “Want. Sarah.”

“Yes. I’m here.” She stroked his forehead, trembling at how warm he still was. “Alastair,” she said, “What can be done?”

“I’m stitching the wound. It looks like he was jabbed with a sword of some type, an edged one, most likely.” He shook his head. “What madness has he gotten himself into?”

“I wouldn’t know.” She pursed her lips.

Alastair gave her a sharp look. “I’m sure that you know exactly that. _Nothing_.” His sarcasm was not lost on her, but she couldn’t let him sway her into revealing the truth.

“You forget yourself, Lord Drem.”

“I know you are more titled than I am, my queen, but I have known Jareth of Atar since we were scarcely into our teenage years. And that has been longer than you, or even your grandparents were scarce a twinkle in someone’s eye. You don’t fool me. He has been with the rebellion, hasn’t he.” It was not a question.

She was silent, leaning down to kiss Jareth on his cheek, and stroking his beard-roughened skin. “I just want him to heal.”

“You have power over him. Make him forget his so-called obligation to them. He will die, and you can be sure of it.”

She straightened her back. “I would no sooner tell Jareth what to do than he would attempt to command me. I will not decide his life for him.”

“You don’t love him, then.”

She felt her eyes wash over with tears. “You know nothing.”

“For a woman with a soft heart, as he claims you have, you are bloodthirsty and cold.”

She stared at him, not understanding his wrath, his utter dislike of her. Then, she comprehended.

“You are in love with him, aren’t you, Lord Drem? That is why you speak this way.”

“He is more than a brother. He is my life.” He shrugged, but his hands trembled.

“I’m sorry.”

He turned to her and snapped, any vestige of softness gone from his face. “Why? You know nothing of who he is or what he wants to be. You think only of yourself.”

“I care for him. Greatly.”

Jareth turned his sweat-soaked head in the direction of her voice. “Sarah...”

“He calls for you.” Contempt filled Alastair’s voice.

“We understand each other,” she said, trying to soothe. “I hope--”

“Like hell you do!” His eyes fumed, his ugly-pretty face screwed in hate. “You will sleep with him eventually as they all do, and when you realize he will get you nowhere, do nothing to help you advance, you will leave him. Broken, for me to pick up the pieces.”

“Alastair,” she said, her temper starting to pick up where his had already flared, “I am a queen. I have nothing to gain from loving Jareth.”

He finished his work, staring down at Jareth, his eyes hooded over. His voice lay thick with bitterness and fume as he completed his goodbye.

“Well, _Queen_ Sarah. Take care of him. Fuck him and then move on. I am glad to have him, even as a leftover.” He marched out the door, shutting it carefully and quietly behind him.

She said nothing; nothing could be said. Whether Jareth had at one time been lovers with the man, she couldn’t say. She didn’t care. She knew, implicitly and more so by the way Alastair had vented to her, that Jareth wanted her. Maybe even loved her. And she admitted fully to herself, she loved him back, even if they never had a future together.

*****

Sarah was glad that her husband had avoided her private rooms for many weeks, distracted by his kingdom’s war. She had no fear that he would choose to visit with her, and she had only to send word to Lilith not to be disturbed.

Laying carefully next to Jareth’s warm body, she tested him for fever, running cool cloths over his skin. It had been difficult to move him to get to the expanse of his body without disturbing him, but he was in a deep, semi-restful sleep and never budged.

Alastair, for all his pique, had taken good care of him. The wound looked clean, and was healing; it had already gained a soft scar. She assumed it was Jareth’s measure of power that he had gained from his mother that made him heal so swiftly.

The night passed, and the next morning. Still, he slept. Sarah kept vigil, barely breathing, her only thoughts scattered prayers to whatever force would listen.

His eyes fluttered open the next afternoon. Two days, gone. Flickered open, then closed again, as if the effort was too much. He didn’t move for a full minute, then his eyes focused on her, clear at last.

“Sa-rah...” His mouth sounded dry. She reached beside her for a glass of water and placed her hand under his head to lift him enough so that he could drink.

“Sip, my love,” she said.

He barely swallowed a mouthful and shook his head. The action sent despair through her. “You must try. You have to get better.”

“Failed.”

She could barely hear him. She leaned her ear near his mouth, taking in his faint words.

“Fail? How do you think you failed?” she said.

“My vow….” He inhaled and laid his head down on the pillow they were sharing, as they were so close in body.

He fell asleep again, this time in ease. It was as if he had forsaken a burden by his words. A vow. She fought to understand, but it explained nothing, and she was loathe to ask him when he awoke.

She yawned, laying down with him curled on her side, both of them like kittens in a basket, snuggling with the other. Sleep came; the answers had not.

*****

**Chapter Seventeen**

His eyes were on her as she awoke. “Hello, Sarah.”

“Jareth.” She smiled sleepily. “Are you feeling better?”

He ran his hand over his side. “Fully better.”

She reached out and touched his jaw, stroking it, her heart swelling with relief. He tipped his chin back into her palm, rubbing his beard-roughened skin against her waiting hand. He nuzzled her palm, moving his chin so that his lips pressed against her hand, kissing it with tenderness. His eyes never left hers.

She blushed. She didn’t know much about intimacy, but his small, responding gesture felt like he had given all of himself with the touch. Nose to nose they lay, hands discreet, bodies flush in virginal bliss. Jareth didn’t push her and she was content just being beside him after the scare he had given her the night before.

She whispered, not wanting to break the strange truce that had come between them. They were usually either fighting or consoling the other into peace. If they had battled recently and remembered the instigation, neither gave evidence of it.

“Alastair will be so pleased that your wound is healing. We were worried about you.” Her words were hushed, but they could have been fire, the way Jareth reacted.

His eyes clouded over, darkening. “Sarah, why would Alastair know anything of my wound?” he said in hushed restraint.

She shook her head, not understanding his mercurial turn. Her lashes flickered and her jaw tightened, as if she were his shared shadow.

“You were hurt. He fixed you.”

Confusion tinged her voice. His sudden irritation seemed unjustified, but he had already separated himself from her as he sat up, leaving her laying on the mattress beside him, a curled up and cold little kitten who lost its only friend. She shivered, his warmth gone from beside her and sorely missed.

“I didn’t need fixing.”

“But--”

He snapped, his face full of resentment. In spite of his words, she knew he didn’t direct his ire towards her. There was a hint of apology in his lean framed body as he vented.

“I didn’t need fixing, Sarah. What I needed was for you to keep quiet.” He pinched his forefinger and thumb against the bridge of his nose.

“I beg your pardon!” she snapped. They regressed, but they looked with longing at the other, not willing for the stalemate to end.

He slipped from the bed, every line of him like a cord stretched tight, ready to break from the pull. He choked out bitter words, his head shaking in denial. Sarah flinched at his digression, unsure of his negativity.

“I trusted you, _came_ to you. More the fool, me, that I wanted to see you before the next stage of the revolt.” He shook, his hurt evident, his anger only barely contained.

“You don’t understand.” She reached out to him. He responded with a quick touch of fingertip to waiting fingertip as if he couldn’t bear to be parted from her. He released her and stepped back again. He stood still, denying emotion. Her eyes were misty as her words caught in her throat. “Jareth, you were mortally wounded--the blood, it was awful...”

“Sarah.” He shook his head, his words and stance softening at her innocent and worried remark. “You don’t understand. My body heals. It always does.” He let out a deep exhaled breath and then looked at her. “There was no need to worry--”

“Of course I worried--”

“You don’t understand the ramification of what has been done.” Jareth caressed her hair back from her temple, his words wry but agitated. He shook his head, bringing her back to their shared predictament. They were in the middle of a war; of course he would be chagrined over her actions. He continued, his voice soft. “There is nothing we can do about it now. It is done.” He gave her his palm, soft side up, urging her to take it. His hand plead for her forgiveness at his curt tone. “Come, and hurry. We have to leave. Pack a bag.”

“What--”

“Sarah, do you trust me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then pack a bag,” he said, imploring her to listen. “You can’t stay here in the castle any longer.”

“Are you--”

He nodded. “Yes, very sure.” He chided himself as he spoke. “The last thing I wanted to do was to put you into danger.” He stroked her jaw with the back of his fingers, reassuring her with his touch. He confessed, “I watched over you, even when I couldn’t see you in person. I knew you were still okay.” His chin jutted, distaste making his mouth twist at the circumstance they were faced with. “You are not safe here anymore.”

“Surely your friend wouldn’t--”

Jareth’s patience with the situation hovered by a mere thread. “I have known Alastair for over a century. The man is the best friend I have in this castle. But I would never put my faith in him.” He took Sarah by the arm, gentle in spite of his words. “Pack a bag. Now.”

He brooked no defiance, but she was already up out of the warm bed and going toward her wardrobe, pulling gowns from it without thought of what they looked like or how they would be for travel. She stumbled and shook as she gathered two dresses, some underthings, and a few toiletries into a knapsack. He took one look at what she had packed and then dumped it out unceremoniously onto the wardrobe’s floor, repacking it with her necessary items and simpler gowns with little decoration that fastened on the side or front.

The only handmaid would be him, and she knew he had better things to do than to see her dressed and ready each day. She rued her lack of foresight in picking her clothes.

“Where are we going?” she said, her words beseeching. “You are telling me nothing.”

“The Goblin Kingdom.” He kept his eyes watchful toward her bedroom door.

She sucked in a deep breath. “The inhabitants will slaughter us!” she said, trembling. “That is the most dangerous kingdom among the Twelve.” She shivered, fear tensing her body.

Jareth came to stand in front of her, cupping her face with his palms. His voice softened, briefly. “Sarah,” he said, stroking her skin. “I would never put you in harms way. You are safer among the goblins, in the castle at the center of the city, than here.”

“How--”

He shook his head, and pressed an urgent finger against her lips. He whispered so that only she could hear. “Someone stands outside. We must keep quiet.”

“My guard?”

Jareth shook his head. “No.” He looked behind him at the closed door. “No, it’s someone else.”

He took her bag and her arm, leading her quickly out a hidden entrance in the wall near her vanity and mirror that she had not known existed. He whispered to her in consoling murmurs as they passed under the floors of the castle, her body trembling from cold and from fear. The tunnel beneath was dark and dank and a secret, even to her, who had been shown the castle’s entirety when she moved into it.

“Jareth...” She questioned him, her voice so quiet she feared he wouldn’t hear her. But of course, his ears were sharp, and he nodded for her to continue.

“Why the Goblin Kingdom?”

He smiled, a dark and wolfish smile. He looked every bit the part of dangerous warrior. She flinched at the terrible harshness of his words.

“Because I can. Because it belongs to me, and always has.”

She tugged on his arm for him to slow for her, his pace too fast for her shorter legs to follow. “Jareth, I don’t doubt you, but why?”

She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, and her thoughts jumbled with anxiety. Yet, she needed to know. He nodded, understanding, as he slowed to match her step for step.

“The Goblin Kingdom saw its last ruler many, many years ago. They are willing to be led,” he said, and continued walking after giving her the brief moment to take a deep breath in the stuffy cavity of the land below. He explained. “They are like children, albeit dangerous children. I have long wanted to see how the goblins would help with the rebellion. I have every expectation that they will prove very useful to us.”

“The revolt--” She let him lead her onward, her steps careful but sure under his guidance. “It was long in coming, then?” She still whispered. “Longer than just the time we have known each other?”

“Yes. Many years. We have been under the tyranny of Hidal the Red for far too long. It was time.”

She nodded, and in spite of the darkness, relieved only by what seemed to be a small crystal in Jareth’s palm that lit the way, he understood. He smiled, his gaze fond as he looked upon her. Her teeth chattering from the cold that permeated through her body. He paused to drape his cloak about her, and she snuggled in its warmth, breathing in Jareth’s unique scent. She explained the meaning behind her gesture.

“I have come to realize my husband isn’t what I believed him to be. I can’t trust him,” Sarah admitted. “I see that now.” Her words were her penitence for ever doubting him.

Jareth stopped again and looked at her, gauging her words and answering carefully as he squeezed her hand. Once, twice, in gentle apology for the harsh way he had acted. Each were bound in passionate regret with the other; it was not the first time, and she doubted it would be the last.

“I am sorry. I wish it could have been different for you, that you didn’t have to marry such a man. No wife should have to realize a husband’s cruelty.”

“I am not sorry.” She blushed, but in the dim-lit space surrounding them, he smiled as if he knew and admired her for her truthful admittance. “I never loved him.”

“I am not sorry about that, either, and I will gladly admit it.” Jareth reached up a hand and stroked her temple, gentle but brief, before he started walking again.

“The Southern Kingdom is a benefit, then.” She puckered her brow, his words striking her heart and making her blood pulse and flare. She let him restart his story, though her mind screamed for him to touch her again.

He nodded at her perception. “Yes. Very.”

He saw better than her in the dark, and as he led her, his palm grasped hers firmly so that she wouldn’t fall. “They hate the king as much as we all do, the creatures of the Labyrinth, and that only bodes well for the Gar Nada. The goblins allowed our takeover, when we would never have been able to have the kingdom without their willing surrender.” He grinned. “They are strong, and we are stronger for them.”

She sucked in the stale air of the passageway, her breath quick, as they half-ran through the corridors. She understood his modest referral of leadership. “You are their king.”

He nodded. “I am.” He didn’t boast, but she heard the pride.

“Then take me to them.” She faced her fears, the stuff of nightmares and wanton dreams. She held onto Jareth’s hand, her lifeline, her love. “Take me to your Labyrinth.”

“Sarah, my precious,” he said, his tone bland. “You never had a choice.”

She smiled, giving in to the lure of his approbation. She really didn’t have a choice. She would have gone with him willingly anywhere he wanted her. And the realization didn’t scare her; it thrilled.

*****

**Chapter Eighteen**

They stopped only to change horses and to give Sarah’s inexperienced and sore body a rest from the heavy riding. At a layover, she was taken into Jareth’s arms where he squeezed her tight to him, curling her up into his body for just the briefest of caresses. She had never been so relaxed, so happy.

“Are you tired?” His concern for her touched her heart. He gave all consideration to make her comfortable and reassured. She smiled against his chest.

“I am fine.”

He kissed her swiftly on the top of her head and then let her go. “It’s time then, to leave.”

He helped her to mount and then he climbed behind her. They were off fast, and she loved the wind in her hair and more so, the man she had come to greatly admire and trust. He kept her protectively tight to him, and she leaned into his embrace. Her voice was pleased as she spoke to him, her voice as hushed as she could make it as they travelled through the night.

“You seem like you had this all planned. The horses, the food as we rest.” A casual remark, inspired by their plight. A not so innocent answer.

His reply was wary, testing her. “I am prepared for anything in this war.”

“You must be a brilliant strategist.” He hid something from her. She begged to know, not for the luxury of stifling his plan, but for the glorious revealing of his accomplishment.

“I am told that is true.” He skirted her reply. His caution made her reckless and fey. She knew; he never had to tell her, yet she understood.

“Jareth,” she craned her neck to look as far back towards him as she could. He shifted as he held her. He begged nicely, silent, for her sweet applause. “Did you come to me, intending to take me with you?” Her voice was icing, sugar and cream, ready to be licked and tasted.

He sighed, reluctance to admit within his words, to give her justification for denying him. He mattered her opinion.

“I did.” No denial.

“Why?”

“I knew you were in danger.”

“You knew--” It was more a question than a statement. His words set up a striking alarm within her head. Pounding her brain and collapsing her fear. Giving her a tasty treat.

“I watched you. I had to know you were safe.”

Easy words, meant to reassure. She furthered her questioning, his blandness too careful. Too practiced. He wanted to bite, to devour her with the tantalization of their flight. He hesitated and she smiled. It was her option to give to him. He always let her choose.

She leaned into him, letting him stroke her skin at her waist and under her breasts. Careful, oh so very careful, he moved. Bent her to him. Let her breathe and suck the whim and follow.

Safe. He had told her that same thing in her bedchamber and she should leave it be. Curiosity killed the kitten. Did she really want to know...

Her body tensed and he pulled his hand into submission. There was something behind his words. Something sinister and dark. She frowned, a trickle of instinctual knowledge drawing her question. Tell me...tell me. She begged without judge and jury to condemn her.

“How were you hurt, Jareth?” There was more, more he hadn’t shared. Death to the kitten.

He didn’t answer for a long, long time. She thought he ignored her. But then he barked out a reply, his answer stunning. Brillant. Honest and blunt; her salvation.

“I killed Hidal the Red.”

She inhaled sharply. “What?”

Happy glee. Startled revelation.

She couldn’t breath. That hint of fear she felt escalated. She tensed in his arms. Fear for him. Fear of him. A brief quiver of doubt. She felt it all, but the prevailing thought was for Jareth’s safety. He had sentenced himself. And he had done it all for her.

He leaned in, the air rushing her ears as much as the dread he inspired. “I killed him. My father, your husband.” His words were bitter. “The man that enslaved you. Enslaved all of us.”

There was no remorse. She whispered, “He wounded you.”

“Yes.” Shrugged complacency.

“He died.” She needed to hear the words again, craved them. Lusted after them.

He hissed. “ _Yes_.”

It was a shared glory. He did it for her; he did it for them.

She understood, denied, and gloated with the thrill of the hunt. A predator, his prey. The blood and gore and knowledge that emancipated. She wanted it all, to suck in, to feel the marrow on her teeth. To thrash and chew and spit the remains on the ground. She wanted his death on her hands. Jareth had given it to her, vicarious and true.

“He had little chance of winning. I am stronger, younger.” He gloated. He preened. She shadowed him, living the victory through his eyes.

“He tried to kill you.”

She saw the battle as it played within his simple words. Her eyes became brilliantly open, her Valkyrian arrow piercing with gloat. Jareth. Her warrior, the man she loved. He faced her demons and his; he never shadowed away in fear. He took her weakness, twisted it into something worthwhile. He made her strong.

He shrugged, his body shifting behind her. “He tried.”

“Why?” So much rebounded in that word. Not a question. A plea.

Why couldn’t she have had the courage. Why? Then she understood. Jareth gave her a precious gift. He gave her the death-weapon to use; she had been part of Hidal’s downfall. He hadn’t left her out. Jareth made her a warrior.

Tears blurred her eyes, happiness and relief surmounting. Triumph. Glory. The manacles that bound her body at the time of her married-entrapment, she fired into a molten mess. She would never succumb to slavery again.

Jareth bent to whisper in her ear, his breath a caress. His breath a promise. “This is a battle, Sarah. And I never bend the rules in warfare.”

She wanted him. To tear his clothes from his pale, muscular body. To have him sink inside her flesh. To feel his heart pounding against her skin, repleted and spent. She felt her body tremble and flare. She never knew that pain could be her passion.

Her heart clenched. Nothing was so simple. Dangerous retribution would follow. Her voice quivered, bloodlust and hate-induced fervor and terror for Jareth intertwining.

“They will come for you, hunt you.”

“Worried, my little kitten? Don’t be.” He laughed, a man of pleasure, a man of pain. He tightened the arm that held her, holding her safe. “I am ready.”

“You just killed a king,” she said, practical. “None of his subjects will let you go unpunished.”

“I am prepared for the eventuality.” He was calm, resigned.

“We must hurry. Go faster.” She felt the fire within her blood. Chasing her, letting them win.

She felt his amusement, his chest rumbling. “My precious.” He leaned in to console. “They will never guess our destination.”

The goblins. The Gar Nada. Everything and everyone had a part. Even Sarah. She might as well have plunged the weapon into her husband’s body herself. She was a traitor to the crown, and she regretted nothing. She was as much a warrior-huntsman as Jareth, and the idea made her smile.

“I am glad of it.”

He shifted behind her, pulling her into his warm body. “Why?”

Now he questioned her. “I hated him. I grew to detest him. He made me his slave, and I was unable to be free.”

“Now you are free.” He leaned in, his words intense. “I will never keep you unwillingly.”

She shivered, paused, and said her fateful words. “But you will keep me.”

“Always.”

He kissed her ear, a light bite of ownership that had nothing to do with her right to choose. She had already chosen him. She would go with him anywhere, and he knew it. He was her willing slave. He promised it. They were bound by the victorious emancipation that followed the king’s slaughter. They were justified. They lived.

It was love, her declaration and his. She smiled. Freedom had never tasted so sweet.

*****

**Chapter Nineteen**

They were led to the castle within the goblin city by a throng of the creatures themselves. Up, past the messy throne room. Jareth looked abashed at the condition but he said nothing. Up, through a maze of rooms. Until they were alone. Alone alone alone. Sarah twisted in Jareth’s arms as the goblins left them, raining hot, frantic kisses upon his cheek.

His skin grew flush under her probing caress, his body trembling. But he did not respond. She kissed him and stroked his arms, pulling him. Pulling him. More more more more more--

“Sarah!” Jareth barked at her, and she paused, looking up under lashes that were wet with tears. “Sarah.” His voice softened, but he pushed her away gently until they were at arm’s length apart. His fingers soothed her heated skin, gentle, careful. His eyes watched hers. He sighed.

“Oh, my precious kitten. Sarah,” he said, and she lunged to him again. Only his strength, of will and of might, kept her from attacking him once more. He kept her in safe distance.

She would have him, fight him, keep him…

Jareth tired of her squirm, and he tucked her back into him, his mouth at her temple. “I never thought you would react so intensely,” he said, his words carrying his sorrow. “Bloodlust. I have succumbed to its attraction myself, and rued the outcome.”

She peered up at him, his meditative tone and soft voice meant to calm. Her eyes flickered on him, lowered again in a blush of shame. A blush of wanton--

“Don’t be sorry, precious. It’s normal, especially when you have never dealt with death in such a way before.” He spoke casually of her husband’s death. She giggled, and it sounded maniacal even to her own ears.

He ran his palm down her hair to her waist where it ended. Stroke, stroke, gentle stroke. She hummed with pleasure, her nerves endings alight. His body a mass of tremors, but she felt him push them aside. He had bloodlust, too. Together, together, together they would be--

“Sarah. Stop.” He pulled her to sanity. “Sarah, my love, it is done. You must relax.”

She shivered, and her voice shook as she responded. “I can’t...relax...So. Very. Hot!” She pulled at the neck of her dress, ready to rip it to shreds from her body.

He took her hand away, kissing her palm and tucking it under his arm. He trapped her. He kept her safe. Safe from who...who. Who? Herself—that’s who.

“You’re in shock. I never should have told you, not until we were safe in this castle.” He took a deep inhale, his body ramrod straight as she melted into him.

She fired back, hot kisses on his face as he waited on her. He was near, so near, and she wanted him. How she needed him!

She begged, “Don’t you want me, Jareth?” A pitiable small voice.

His face blanched and his body became even stiffer against her, an unpliable board. “ _You have no idea_.”

Harsh, staccato and raw. He did want her. He must take her…

“No, Sarah. No, not like this.” He refused her. Like a parent to a child. Like a warden to his slave. No, not a slave. Never a slave again--

He scooped her up into his arms, and she screamed. Not at him, no. Scream of mercy, scream of terror, scream of acceptance long in coming. He held her to his body as she struggled. He carried her as she flailed and he never wavered, his strength more than muscle. Restraint, his core.

He came to a door, paused before it, analysing. Then he lifted his leg, his booted foot. And kicked! The door banged in, hitting against the stone wall, splintering in long cracks from his force.

She whimpered. He crooned her name, over and over and over. He strode to the bed, the room simple, the furnishings bare. The bed was sumptuous, but little else filled the expanse.

He didn’t set her down. Not at first. He paused, a long and thoughtful pause, cradling her. Contemplative, as he looked down at the mattress. He wouldn’t leave, would he? She inhaled with fear.

He put one knee on the mattress, to brace himself, and he laid her down. Gentle, so gentle. He laid her down, and laid beside her, her constant, her friend. Not her lover. Not yet.

He was so kind. He was so gentle. He was. Oh, he was--

She turned in his arms, facing him, plunging her face deep into the curve of his chin and throat. Then she sobbed. Bitter, glorious, wet and theraputic sobs. He held her. Held her and held her until the tears were hiccups. Still he didn’t let her go.

The terror passed. The longing passed. Her inhales were small staggers of relief. So close, and she would have given herself to him. Willing, but out of mind. He knew, and held back. Her king, her king. How kind he was...so gentle.

The strokes on her back grew lighter. He was inducing rest, and she craved that now, more than him. Maybe, more than him...

So sleepy. His arms were about her as her eyes flickered shut. So kind, her king Jareth…

*****

**Chapter Twenty**

When Sarah awoke, Jareth had already gotten up and was pacing the room. She yawned, still feeling tired. He turned in her direction, concern on his face.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was careful and quiet.

“Like my body has been pummeled with a staff of iron.”

He chuckled. “That bad, hmm?”

“Why must you be such a morning person?” She growled and rolled over, covering her head so that the day became a pseudo-night, as she attempted to fall back asleep.

She felt Jareth pounce onto the bed by her side. The mattress reverberated. She said, her head still hidden, “What is this bed made of, wishes and dreams? I feel like I’m floating here.”

“Cranky, my kitten?”

He slid his hand under the covers, stroking her bare arm. Up and down, small circles. Whisper soft caresses she wished would never end. The thrill was automatic, a pulse deep in the core of her. Waiting, imploring, for his further touch.

They were separated by the blanket, by their clothes, by their fear of rejection. She bit back her instinctual reticence. This was Jareth, and she had waited a long time for him.

She smiled, her head tucked into the crook of the arm he seduced. He found her cheek, gave it equal attention, as he gauged her reaction to him.

“Why are you being nice to me today?”

“Come, come, Sarah. Aren’t I always _generous_ with you?”

“You certainly want to be now.” Tart, a smile lingering on her face. Let him come and get her...

He drew up the covers, got underneath, and concealed them both from the world. “Hello, precious.”

She giggled. “Hello, my king.”

He returned her grin. “I like hearing that on your lips.” He brushed the top of her head with a kiss.

She snuggled into him. “Jareth?”

He held her close, his breathing relaxed. “Hmm?”

He squeezed her shoulder. He was still too far away, and she wanted more. More, and she would beg if necessary. But she had to hear, to know. She wouldn’t make the mistake of giving everything, the only thing she had left of truest value in this Underground world, to him without his promise.

“What do you think of me?” Silence. She bit at her lower lip. Long moments passed, and he acted like he hadn’t heard her. She pressed. “I didn’t think it was that hard of a question,” she said, her voice light but quivering slightly by his affront at not answering her back.

His hold on her became like a grip of need, though his words were carefully cautious. “I think you are a very special, brilliant woman.”

Disappointment. “Oh.” Her voice, small. It wasn’t quite what she wanted, needed, to hear.

He brought her chin up to level near his face. “Sarah, I haven’t said...” He paused, debated.

“Never mind.” She gave a soft, dismissive laugh and released herself from his embrace, moving over until she was on her own side of the bed. Passively miffed.

“Sarah, please listen.” He pulled her back to him. “I haven’t said that to anyone...” He paused. “In a very long time.”

Her anger quelled. “You haven’t?” She encouraged him, running her forefinger over his lower lip.

“No.” He teased like he would bite her finger. Then he did, nibbling on it and giving it a quick kiss. He said, practical, “No one ever wanted it from me.”

“I want it from you, Jareth.” She looked up shyly from under her lashes.

“Sarah...” His words were careful, his breathing sharp. He refused to say any more.

She snapped, finding his obstinence too demanding. “Well, if it’s too difficult for you--”

“Don’t--”

He clutched her like a doll, a beloved one. But even then, he wouldn’t beg. She had no qualm about it.

“I won’t ask you again.” Tears hovered.

“I would show you.” His words were hopeful. Distressing her more.

She sighed and sniffled. “It really won’t come easy with you, will it, Jareth?” He was silent, imploring with his stubborn eyes. She battled her pride and let it lose. Not graciously. “I love _you_ , Jareth.” His face flushed, his eyes glinting.

Sarah repeated, and gave a soft kiss to puncuate her words. Kiss. Declaration. Kiss. Kiss. Declaration. “I love you. I _love_ you.”

She felt his body stir as they lay together. His arms shook as they held her.

“I won’t make you tell me,” she said, shaking her head at her own folly and futile irritation. “I know when to surrender.” She smiled and leaned nearer. “But please, my love. Please, show me.”

He growled, his control near its end. His breathing was quick, hers came back at him rapid fire. Then he pulled away, sudden and thoroughly, leaving her cold and confused. He took several deep breaths, reining himself in. He turned over onto his back, his chest rising and falling with each staggered breath, his hand covering his heart as if to keep it all safely contained within.

“Sarah...”

She fought the impending sobs. “What, Jareth?”

“You deserve to hear something.” She eyed him with caution. He continued. “About my past. It’s not pretty.”

She waited for him to speak again. Waited some more. He was quiet, ruminating. She tucked her head onto her elbowed arm, watching him. He said nothing. Sarah had learned endurance over her years; he tested it sorely. But she stayed as silent as him.

Then, when she felt her anger arouse once again, she saw his jaw clench and his eyes go steely dark. Her eyes flickered with chagrin. _Damn you, Sarah,_ for your impatience _._ She cursed herself voluminously. He appeared in deep thought, and his face reflected hurt. Still he remained quiet, calmly reflective, deep into memory.

Then at last, he spoke. And it was the last thing she expected to hear.

******

“Her name was Astrid.” He smiled, but it turned solemn. “Before I met you, I used to think she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.” Sarah felt a tinge of jealousy, but she kept listening. Jareth’s eyes didn’t see her as he spoke; he saw that other woman. He continued, fast, needing to purge it from his memory.

“I was sixteen. I had been through the warrior trials two years earlier, and I thought I was a man.” He smiled, finding morose humor in the thought. “My father had brought me to court by then. I knew he found every reason to dislike me. I was nothing like him. My mother made sure of that.” Sarah almost reached out to console, but it was not the time. She let him speak, and with every word, he became tenser.

“He had opinions about what made a man, and I was not, according to him.” He grunted, finding humor in his thoughts. He cast a brief look over to Sarah. “If you only knew.” He scoffed again, and continued. “He introduced me to Astrid, a woman of the court. She was older than me by several years, and I fell in love with her.” He darted his eyes over to Sarah, who remained carefully void at his words. “I thought I was, anyway.”

His words became bitter. “She was my first, and she told me that I was hers.” Jareth cast another look at Sarah. “If you are fully aware of the ramifications of that, what it means to share your virginity Underground, you will understand my obsession. I wanted to marry her. I was head over heels and she knew it. My father knew it, too.”

“I went to him, to ask for permission to have her as wife. He laughed, and brought her before me, telling me to watch and to learn the truth about women.” Jareth face grew into a vision of disgust. “My father paraded man after man into the room, and she--” He caught himself as he choked the words. “--She let them touch her body, to have her as I thought only I had touched her. More the fool, me. I knew then that she found no pleasure in bedding a man. But she enjoyed the coin that my father provided, the comfortable lifestyle in the court that her beautiful, deceptive, body could bring.”

Sarah bit her lip, making it wince and burn. Jareth wasn’t finished. “She came to me afterward, sex still dripping from her body, and she dared--” His face grew into dark poison. He snapped his words. “--She _dared_ to try to touch me, to assure me that if I gave her the freedom to be with others, I could have her at my whim. I pushed her away, and found refuge in another woman that night. I had to erase her from my mind. I think I went a bit crazy...woman after woman. Night after night. It never seemed to help.”

Jareth looked at Sarah then, apologetic. “I have been with many women. I never wanted to tell another one that I loved them...” He paused, taking a deep breath, “Until I met you.”

He turned on his side to face her. He touched her cheek, soft and begging her forgiveness. She turned into his touch, kissing his palm. Her eyes gave him reassurance. He smiled, and soothed her skin.

“I love you, Sarah. There will never be another for me.” His words were simple, but she knew then how hard they had been to reveal. He leaned forward to kiss her, tender and completely. “Let me be yours, and I will give you,” he paused, emphatic, “ _Anything_ you want. Jewels, gowns--”

She cut him off, her smile wan. “I don’t want things.” He flinched, ready to draw back, until she finished. “I only want _you_ , my love. You and no other.”

He grabbed her, holding her in a death clasp. “Sarah, my Sarah!”

She wiggled an arm out from his grip, taking her hand to smooth back his hair. “Jareth...”

He grinned, kissing her, over and over and over again. Reverently, passionately. She spoke before she couldn’t think any longer.

“I believe you promised to show me.” She purred the words, feeling emancipated and brazen in front of him. He blinked, not knowing of what she spoke, his eyes confused until she repeated her words. “Show me, Jareth. _Teach_ me. Let me know--”

He burst out into hearty laughter, his head tipping back, before he kissed her again, this time with promise. “Gladly, my queen.”

*******

**Chapter Twenty-One**

He looked at her with greedy anticipation, but his words brought cautious discipline. “I want this to be good for you, Sarah. I know for a woman--”

She touched his mouth with a finger. “Shush, my love. I know you will be kind and gentle.”

“That’s the damn thing, Sarah,” he said in a burst. “I don’t want to be gentle.”

She laughed, a smile on her face. “Then,” she said, giving him a sweet kiss, “Don’t be.”

He still restrained, holding his body over hers, braced on his arms. She tried to pull him down, to feel his body weight on top of her, an immediate gratification, but he persisted.

She said, coaxing, “Lay on me. I want to feel you.”

Emboldened, when she had been taught to be shy, reticent. There was nothing shy about her now; her body was wanton, and he craved every inch of it. He planned to touch and kiss and suck on every part of her. Nothing off limits, unless she gave him action or word to back away, he would teach her the best way he knew how.

Their love; it would be so good. It was up to him to pleasure her, as she already given to him everything. He was ready for the tantalizing challenge; she was more than any woman before her had ever been. Sarah, his queen, his great love.

He nuzzled her skin with his nose, brushing her soft flesh with his hot, coaxing, passionate mouth. Each kiss was a prayer. Each touch an ephiphany. He wanted, suddenly, to burst into tears by the staggering realization that this woman loved _him_. He shook his head, and the impulse away.

His past haunted him. He had been made a warrior after all, and hunting to kill, his only merit. But he would do everything in his power to prove to her that he was worthy. Never enough--

“Until I met you...” He whispered into her ear, and she gave him that soft smile he adored. She wiggled deliciously under him as his hand ran down her side, skimming her heavy-weighted breast. He promised her again and again, with each stroke. With purpose he cupped her breast, laving her nipple with his tongue and suckling, rounding his fingers around her to squeeze and press until she sighed in bliss. Soft at first, then with a needy force as she gasped in lustful response. He groaned, lowering himself, just enough to entice them both, onto her waiting body.

Her breathing quickened, and he smiled in secret pleasure. He would bring that to a crescendo, make her scream, make her arch and moan. He knew how to pleasure, but this time it was all for her. His love, the woman who would be his wife as he took that prized virginity she gifted to him.

“Sarah,” he breathed, inhaling her unique scent, jasmine and vanilla. He ran his tongue across her skin, his tongue tasting her goodness. Each lick, each stroke, whispered a story. Their new story, one he wanted to last forever. _Not long at all_.

“Please...” She twisted in an agony that only love could bring. “Please, Jareth...” She begged and he smiled into the crook of her neck as he rubbed himself against her, pressing to relieve the intense pressure inside. She tipped her hips up and met his body, and he grabbed her, holding her still. _Just one moment--_ He caught his breath and shifted into a safer position.

“Tell me, Sarah...” He lingered on her name and his voice made her gasp. Lick, kiss, lick. “What do you want?” He crooned to her, a song of redemption, a whisper of shared need.

“More...” Her body gave that sweet and tantalizing wiggle again, and his body pulsed.

“I’ll give you _anything_ you need,” Jareth promised, and he moved his fingers down her skin, reaching her sweet core. He cupped her, and she was wet. Oh, by the Unknown, so very wet. He groaned and she sucked in a hissed breath. He grew to know her body as he knew his very own, and he would worship her the only way he knew how.

His gift: her pleasure. He wanted to make it last and last and last, but each arch, every movement of her under him, brought his control to a swifter end.

She touched him, wrapping her fingers around him in sexy, sweet innocence, and he almost finished. His head threw back in an ecstasy he had never felt with any other woman. His eyes screwed tight, and he sucked in blessed air. Breathe. Breathe.

“Jareth,” she said, a smile of satisfaction on her face. She knew, she knew, the minx. He kissed her with all the love, all the pent up desire, he had. His body trembled. If she touched him there again, he would spew into her fingers. Gently, discreetly, he moved her hand away from the most responsive part of him.

She pouted. How he loved that pout! He fingered her warmth again, dipping into the moist flesh. He circled her sensitive bud, lightly and then, as she gasped, a greater pressure.

“You like that, don’t you?” he grunted. He was so near. He must be patient. She wasn’t quite ready…

“Yes...” She hissed, an exclamation that fired him. With a gentle force, he spread her legs for him. She instinctively pressed them together for an instant, and he soothed her, raining kisses upon her face, her neck, her breasts.

“Let me...” He lowered his mouth on her body with each kiss. “Let me kiss you...Let me _taste you..._ ”

She gasped as his mouth reached her, intimately, suckling her tight little bud and drawing her wetness onto his tongue. So sweet, better than chocolate, better than anything…

He groaned, and the vibration of his mouth, as he knew it would, made her give a small scream. She pulled at his hair and he smiled. He brought her hips upward to meet him, sucking, licking the sweet goodness of her, humming into her flesh. She clenched her thighs about his head, and he licked some more.

She was close.

He felt her muscles tense and throb about his fingers as he inserted them in an erratic, teasing pattern inside her. One knuckle, two, until his fingers sunk fully into her, stretching her, making her ready for him. He brought the rhythm to a steady stroke. She whimpered. Her skin was moist from arousal, and her flesh glowed with perspiration that meant he was doing it just right. Her eyes watched him, mossy brightness that shined with her passion and love.

She arched up, against his fingers. With smooth seduction he slid his body up along hers until her breasts rubbed his chest. He kissed her neck, mimicking with his tongue, the fingers that stroked inside and along her flesh. Marking her with a sharp nip of his teeth on her flesh, then laving the pain away. He lowered himself again, burying his mouth where he knew she liked it best.

“Come for me, Sarah. Come on for me...” Jareth brought another finger into her depth. Two—so wet, enough to slip in a knuckle of a third. She panted. He held his breath, forcing his own panting to slow. He had to last, just a little while longer…

“Jareth, I want...” Her breath was fast, and he felt her start to contract about his fingers, against his lips that he brushed back and forth against her, lifting and teasing until he knew she wouldn’t last another full minute.

“What do you want, precious?”

He would bring her to the pleasurable pain that she craved, that she had never known with any man. She was so close, he felt it. He thrust his fingers into her, over and over and over, a mockery of the motion he would soon give with that very aching part of him.

He lifted his mouth enough to brush his chin against her curls, up against top of her apex. Pressing there. The motion sent her into a high arch.

He knew, he knew, and he gave it all to her. Sarah was close, but she held back. Jareth felt her last maidenly restraint give way. He nipped her, gentle but firm, on the most sensitive part of her flesh, tugging with his lips and teasing lightly with his teeth.

And she screamed. Screamed and came with glorious pulsing, all around his fingers, wet with her climax. He licked until the last convulsion ended. His chin wet, his fingers soaked. He looked at her, making her look at him, and he tasted her wetness on his fingers. Her skin flushed even brighter.

“Touch me, Sarah,” Jareth moaned, and he brought her hand to him. He had to have her, he had to…

She touched him, her fingers moving up and down on him, an instinctual grace. She cupped his balls, and they were so tight he knew he wouldn’t last long. His head threw back and his eyes squeezed tight. He took her hand away, kissing her palm as he slowed his breathing, stilling the rapid staccato. He must sustain. He must--

She whispered into his ear. “Am I yours?”

“ _Yes!_ ”

He moaned loud, calling her name out, and she smiled. He couldn’t take it. “Fuck, Sarah, touch me again.” He showed her the rhythm he liked, but it soon became too much. He had to have her, thrust deep inside and come and come and come until he had nothing left. He looked at her and she panted her acceptance. She was arching under him again, his pleasure making her hot and wanting.

He guided himself to her, the center of her wetness, and he rubbed his tip against her flesh. Slow, meticulously slow. She grabbed his hips, pulling him closer until he was able to push the tip of him into her. He took one of her hands, pulling it above her head and holding it there, their fingers intertwined. The position made her back arch up. _Perfect..._

“You feel so good...” He moaned and he almost lost it at the moment. One inch and he felt done for. He wanted everything, her all. His face pressed into her neck and he gave kiss after kiss in the crook of her skin. He paused. Another inch. By the Unknown, she was killing him!

Her flesh expanded and hugged him, the pulsing in her driving him mad. Slow, he commanded, slow. She was wet, but new, and he restrained his motion, giving her inch by inch of him until she could fully accept his girth and length.

For a moment he felt fear. He had always been proud of his size but now maybe, maybe he was too much. He looked at her, but she nodded and arched, making him move deeper into her. His balls throbbed.

“Jareth!” She pulled him, tighter, closer.

“I can’t. Wait.” He gasped.

He pulled out, slow enough to make him groan with the sensation. He looked at her again. Testing her. She wiggled and he was undone. He pulled back to his tip and then thrust. She moaned. Thrust. His panting heightened. She wiggled him into her deeper, her hips arching to meet him. Thrust. Oh, the exquisite pain and the pleasure!

Her flesh throbbed and pulsed. She was going to come again, and he felt a glorified gratification, a purely male one. She impressed him, his kitten. He knew few women that found their release in the act that made him shudder with such intensity. He pulled out, slow, to the very tip. She gasped and he smiled. Wait, wait, oh but she was so tight around him…

“Sarah!”

He thrust again into the depth of her, the base of his cock rubbing her sensitive flesh. Her climax, strong enough to throw her head back, drove him to his near finish. Almost. _Almost--_

Flesh against flesh, hurriedly paced. One two push deep. Deeper. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t--

He jerked, convulsed against her softer body, spewing and spewing, thrusting and thrusting. That final push, and he caught his breath. Drained. Completed.

She stroked his hair, even as she pulled at it. She panted and then gasped. Though he had finished before she fully completed her second climax, he continued to move, to gyrate his hips slow and circular, as she convulsed about him, her orgasm still giving her waves of pleasure that rode on and on. His cock was softening inside her, but it still felt so good. She felt so good. He lay on her, not able to move. Not able to catch breath. Not wanting to let go.

Virgin no longer. Now, a wife. He kissed her with gratitude. Kiss, kiss, her skin damp and sweet.

“I love you, my Sarah.”

His kiss gave his promise. He would never leave her. He would be his queen, rightly by his side. His wife, one he would never let go.

He drew her into an embrace, and they lay, breath slowing. Pulses going back to normal. Hearts swelling. Sarah snuggled to his side. She was perfection. And his, all his. She had already claimed him, and for the first honest time in his life, he was ready to be fully claimed.

*****

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

They heard the shrieking coming from the lower chambers, early that next morning. “Get off me, you ugly cretins! Keep your hands to yourself.” Another shout.

“The goblins have found an intruder,” Jareth said, calm.

“That sounds like Lil,” Sarah said, turning to him. “We have to go down there and get her.”

“And let her miss out on meeting our newest warriors of the rebellion? I think not.”

“Jareth, she’s my best friend.”

“In that case, follow me.” He remained unruffled, but Sarah held a case of nerves. She still hadn’t paid much attention to the goblins, but those she had seen were scary little creatures.

“You are acting like you don’t like her,” she said, trying to move him along faster. He stayed inplacable, taking his time as they walked the corridors and down the stairs.

“I never said either way.”

They rounded the corner. Lilith was dressed in men’s clothing, and her hair was hidden under a cap. She sighed with relief as Sarah entered the room, tossing another goblin from her.

“They simply want to play,” Jareth said, a smirk on his face.

“I’ll show them play--” Lil said, her face flushed.

Sarah made to rush her friend in greeting, but Jareth held out his arm and stopped her. Her eyes rounded in question, but he said nothing. He moved forward, toward the handmaid.

“So, little wanderer. How ever did you know we were here?” His voice mocked, and his stance was warriorlike, stiff and assuming.

“We know everything.” Lil looked at him with a mixed hostility, her answer obtuse, but revealing just how much the servants were aware of. “I had to see and talk with Sarah.”

“She is right here. Talk.” He folded his arms against his chest.

Sarah knew better than to contradict him in his own castle, but she couldn’t help but glare at him for his rudeness. Later, she would ask questions.

“Not in front of you,” Lil retorted with the same rudeness he had shown her. She mimicked his stance, defiant, her voice chill.

Sarah stepped forward. “It’s okay, Lil. You can talk in front of him. I wouldn’t hide anything from Jareth.”

“Jareth, is it? The last time we spoke, he was still Lord Atar.” Lilith glowered at him, like knowing his name was a misdemeanor. “Sarah, I came to warn you.” She looked at Jareth again, her eyes gaining that lustful look she had whenever she caught sight of him, tempered, but still there. Sarah almost laughed at her friend’s blatant sexuality.

“Of what?” Jareth’s arms went to his side, but his presence was still aggressive.

The handmaid implored Sarah, but Sarah knew she couldn’t just make him leave. Finally, Lilith spoke in a mad rush.

“Hidal the Red. He’s dead. And we know who killed him.”

Neither Sarah or Jareth spoke. Their eyes darted to each other, then quickly away. The handmaid whispered, “You know.”

Sarah nodded. “Yes.”

Lil gained her sass back. “So you are aware, as well, that Lord Drem has taken the crown. Not surprising, really, considering.”

Jareth stiffened. “You lie.”

“I wouldn’t. That’s why I came. Sarah is in danger.”

“What danger?” Jareth snapped, and Sarah knew his patience hung on a weighty limb. Lilith had the proclivity to stretch her stories out.

“A bounty is on her head. They say she murdered the king.” Lil added, “We know, the servants know, that is falsehood. But Lord—I mean, _King_ Drem, has taken it upon himself to send the crown’s hunters after her, looking for her.”

Jareth gritted his teeth, his voice a low hiss. “King Drem? Damn it all, what has the fool done now?” He started to pace. “He knows Sarah would never--” He cut off, then continued. “He knows, and he _dares!”_

Lil nodded, and this time when Sarah moved towards her friend, Jareth didn’t stop her. He said, “We appreciate this knowledge.” His voice sounded like roughened bark. He still wasn’t pleased with the messenger.

“I don’t do it for you, sweet thing.” Lil winked at him, her attraction for Jareth as always, in high gear. “And yes, he dares. We know who he was to the king.” She sauntered around him, analysing him. “And we know how much it meant to you to have the king silenced. Especially--”

Jareth snapped, “Especially. What.” Not a question. A command.

Sarah knew her friend. She wasn’t sure Lilith knew what dangerous game she played. Or maybe she did; she always had been on the wild side.

“Because of your vow.” She winked again, slow and seductive. “Wouldn’t want that getting out, especially since you two have obviously gotten so cozy.”

He looked ready to hit her, and Sarah knew Jareth wasn’t the type of man to hit a woman. Lil tested his patience too much. She stepped closer to her friend, confronting her at the same time.

“Vow. What vow?” she said. Her heart sank a little, realizing that her question would bring repercussions. Jareth had spoken of a vow while he was injured. Whatever her handmaid had to say, it wouldn’t be a complete falsehood.

Lil ran a hand up Jareth’s arm. He shrugged it away. Violently. His face was dark, his eyes darker. Lilith laughed, as though delighted by the affront.

The woman looked directly at Sarah, all pretense gone, her eyes saddened. “The vow between the king and his only son, the bastard lord. To have his son impregnant you with child...so that the king could have a rightful heir.”

Jareth said nothing. His face tightened, but as Sarah looked at him, he wouldn’t look back at her. He had let Lilith say her statement and he hadn’t stopped her. He wanted Sarah to know. But what a way to know…

Sarah turned to Jareth. He slowly nodded, but his eyes didn’t reach her own. They glared off into the distance, murder blazing in them.

Tears of shame blurred her eyes. She choked back her angry words. They wouldn’t change anything.

“Don’t worry, Lil. There will be no child.” Static and pale, a ghostly reminder of her worth.

Her handmaid nodded. “I know, dear.” She looked with condemnation at Jareth, then pity and affection at Sarah. “We know you can’t.” She shrugged her arm at Jareth. “Shame that he wasn’t made aware before he was promised the Goblin Kingdom as reward.”

Sarah hissed an intake of breath that quickly caught in her throat. Drop drop. The tears fell, and she didn’t have the willpower to brush them away. Jareth’s face conglomerated with a mix of sorrow, admittance, and—sadly, triumph.

Sarah rounded him, on her way back up to the bedchamber. She whispered for his ears alone as she drew near. “ _Coward_. Guess you got _everything_ you wished for.”

He blanched but stayed silent. His arms hung by his side, his fists clenched until they were white with tension. He made no move to comfort her, to come closer.

Sarah took her time going up the stairs, hope still beating in her heart. Maybe he would come, explain. Her feet dragged. Slow, slow.

She heard Jareth say to her handmaid. “I wish I had told her.”

Lilith retorted, “You missed out on your chance. Now she’ll never want you again.” Fainter, “I’ll just be on my way...” Her last sassy dig, before the goblins clustered in loud swarm and took her away.

Sarah hovered on the landing, ready to bolt if Jareth came up. He didn’t. Her heart hardened, bit by bitter bit. She brushed the rebellious tears from her face. Useless. She should never have trusted him. He was, after all, a bastard.

There was utter silence downstairs. Sarah craned her head to hear, but as it came, she didn’t have to fight too hard to listen.

Virulent smashing and kicking of everything in the room, mirrors breaking, chairs overturned. Banging, cursing. A bitter and harsh yell that made its way through the castle. Then--Nothing.

He still didn’t come. Sarah sludged her way into the bedroom, shutting and locking the door after her.

If she ever saw Jareth of Atar— _the Goblin King—_ ever again, it would be far too soon.

*******

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

Jareth came into the bedroom as Sarah was packing, unpacking and repacking over and over again, the small bag she had brought with her, giving her shaking hands something to occupy. She didn’t turn as he came to stand beside her.

“You’re angry.”

She cast him a gaze, calm and serene. “No.” She looked at his arm, a large gash bleeding from wrist to elbow and dripping on the stone floor. She turned around, her back to him, resolved to finish her folding. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’ll heal.”

She whispered. “Yes.”

He grabbed her elbow, still gentle in spite of the emotion behind it. His body was wrathful, self-induced misery that he wallowed in.

“Look at me, Sarah.”

She jerked away, still pretending not to care. “Get off me. I don’t want you to touch me.” Carefully halcyon.

He inhaled, his voice striving for mellow. “I’m sorry.”

She paused. Another dress, folded haphazard, into the bag. “No you’re not. You’re sorry you got caught.”

He grabbed her elbow again, still evoking the same consideration for her smaller frame, not wanting to harm. She went on folding as though he weren’t touching her.

He growled. “Sarah, look at me.” She didn’t. He continued, “What can I do? I’ll do anything.”

She pursed her lips. “So you said last night.”

This time he made her turn to face him. He looked awful. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin chalky white.

She interjected before he could force an apology again or convince her with his excuses. “You should get something for that arm. It’s dripping on the floor.”

“Damn the floor! Sarah--”

“I don’t think I have anything to say to you. Please move.”

“Where are you going?” His voice dropped with fear. She pushed past his raggedly emotional question. She pushed past _him_.

“I’m leaving.”

He fought her statement. “Where?”

She paused. Tears jetted to her eyes and she shook them away before he could, raptorlike, access them and use them for his gain.

“I don’t know.”

“You have guards looking for you, trained killers. You are safer here with me.” She knew enough of him to know that he plead, but his voice gave no hint of it. _Stubborn ass_ …

“Perhaps I am. But I’m still leaving.”

He smacked the bag from her hand, his display of temper giving her a small fright. He had never been rough or showed his battle-torn side before. Then again, he hadn’t been in such a precarious position with her before.

“Fuck it, Sarah! You’re not leaving me.” He crossed his arms in a show of power, but his hands trembled violently.

She arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And why not?”

“Because I love you.”

She said coolly, “I love you too. That doesn’t change anything.”

He whispered, his voice miserable. “Please, Sarah. Don’t go.”

She turned to him then, her anger coming out like a wraith. She poked him, just once but hard, her finger at the level of his muscular chest. “You lied to me! You could have told me at any time and I would have understood. Jareth--” She leaned down and picked up her bag, placing it on the bed. “--You know how I came to be Underground, how and why I married your father. I didn’t love him--”

He opened his mouth to talk and she continued as if he hadn’t. “People in relationships don’t keep secrets from each other. Not like that one.” She reached up and kissed him lightly on the cheek. She finished her diatribe oddly calm. “Now move aside. I have to find somewhere to go.”

He tried. He tried again— _damn him--_ and she attempted to ignore him and not cry. “You’re my wife.”

“What does that mean, exactly? Do _you_ own me, too?”

She had meant it as a witty and snide retort, but Jareth’s face looked ashamed. His silence told her the answer.

“I am. I am yours.”

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t--

Sarah burst into noisy tears, that revelation putting her life into perspective. She would never be a free woman, not even with Jareth. He hesitated, and then put his arms about her. She was too upset to push him away again.

“Sarah, it’s not like that. I wouldn’t make you--”

“What?” She snorted in an inelegant sob. “Do something I didn’t want to do?”

His anger reared again, and she guessed it was as much the situation as her prodding him. “Stop the passive-aggressive playback. You are my wife, not my slave. If anything, I am yours.”

She tucked her head into his chest, both comforting and chastising herself that he could make her feel so good, in spite of everything. “I don’t know what to do.” Her voice was small, afraid, and unsure.

He picked her up, cradling her a moment against his body, before carrying her over to the bed and sitting her down. He backed up and said, holding up a palm in surrender, “Relax. I have no ulterior motive for placing you here. I just want you to listen. _Please_.”

She nodded. He nodded back, relief spreading on his face at her acquiescence.

“I wanted to tell you about--” Her head shot up, and he placed his palm up again, begging for her ear. “I got scared.” He started pacing and she followed him with her eyes, not saying anything. But listening very, very carefully.

“It seemed so easy at first. You know that having women has never been difficult for me.” She glared at that. He continued as if he hadn’t seen her face glowering at him. “I thought you would be an easy mark. Innocent, newly married to a man that couldn’t bed you.” He shrugged. “My father had the brilliant idea of isolating us alone in the hunting lodge. I went for it, thinking I could convince you there.”

Sarah jumped from the bed. “That’s enough.”

“ _Please_ , Sarah. Hear me out.”

She re-sat on the bed. Folding her hands in her lap, and putting on an icily complacent face. He sighed, running his hand through his long hair. Looking like he wanted to rip it out in his pain and frustration. She waited, not saying a word. Not letting him sway her...unless he had something vital to say that could change her mind.

“You were wonderful.” He choked back emotion, the man that never showed any. “You were unexpectedly wonderful.” He looked at her, then away again as her expression hadn’t moved. Her heart, however, cracked a bit from the honesty in his words.

“I fell in love with you. I wanted to tell you Sarah, believe me on that, but I got scared.”

“You said that already.” Purposefully bored.

“It’s the truth. I’ve never been so terrified in my life. That you would find out, that you would hate me. I couldn’t imagine a worse fate.”

He suddenly dropped to his knees before her, wrapping his arms about her legs and cradling his head into her lap, his face shoving into the flesh of her thighs. “Please don’t hate me, Sarah.” His words muffled, but he was close enough to understand completely. Her heart ached.

She murmured, so faint she thought nothing could hear. “My warrior...”

He grabbed her tighter. “Sarah...”

He had heard, and she wondered if she cared. She reached out a shaky hand to touch his pale, pale hair, loose from its customary ponytail. She changed her mind; though caressing him—forgiving him—seemed very appealing. He hadn’t pulled it back that morning, but then again, they hadn’t expected Lilith to show up.

_Lilith_!

“What did you do with Lil?” she asked, instead of giving in to her emotional want.

He mumbled into her lap, “She’s in the kitchen with the goblins, gathering food for the way back.”

“You would send her back, in the midst of that chaos?” Sarah’s voice sharpened.

“She wants to return. Says she can see more of what’s going on that way. She’s a hard one. She’ll be safe enough.”

“Am I safe here, in this goblin kingdom?” she asked, her words bland. Revealing nothing.

“I want you to be.” He raised to his feet, avoiding her eyes. His eyes looked suspiciously red-rimmed. “But,” he sighed, brooking on honesty. “I’m not sure. The goblins--”

She was quiet, thinking. “Is the hunting lodge safe?”

He watched her. “It could be. If I secured it.”

“I want to go there.”

He straightened, purpose alighting him. “I’ll prepare right now.”

“Not with you. With Lil.”

His face turned ashen. “You are cruel, my love.”

“No crueler than you, my darling.” She stood, caressing his cheek. “You can take us. I’ll need supplies from,” she paused, “Your _kingdom_.” Her brow arched and he flushed. “And safe passageway.”

“I’ll make sure you have a guard stationed there.” Sharp, sad, and bitterly resigned.

She nodded. “Thank you, Jareth.”

He barked out a plan, his feelings obviously hurt by her. Oh, but so were hers, wounded and broken. Like two shadows, they danced and evaded the other, not even able to look each other in the eye.

He said, “I wouldn’t want you to come to harm.” Then he stalked to the bedroom door, ripped the door open and looked back. “I am sorry.”

He went out the door, closing it with careful restraint. Sarah flung herself on the bed, their marriage bower, and sobbed until no more tears would fall.

*******

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Jareth didn’t come up to the bedroom until early the next morning of the following day. Sarah hadn’t slept, so when he came in quiet as a warrior on the hunt, she rolled over and faced him, eyes blurry from her crying, but fully awake.

She offered a truce of sorts, giving in without giving anything at all. “Your arm looks better.”

He grunted, looking down at the offending limb. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

“What have you thought about?”

Her question quietly defenseless, probing. Anything, to make him ask her again to stay. She swallowed the pain that lodged in her throat, but didn’t branch out to him with apology.

He answered simply. “You.”

She felt the need to burst into tears at his honest confession, but she was all out. His answer made her feel sick, though the sickness expelled from her own heart. She pardoned her fear, her pride, and the forced confinement of her wedded _bliss_ , to reach out to him and beg. She had to tell him, to let him know--

His words halted her.

He spoke as if he hadn’t noticed her inhaled sigh, the mellowing of her eyes. “Your handmaid went back to the Upper North.” At Sarah’s startled intake of air, he said, “She will be fine. That woman won’t let anything stop her.”

Sarah didn’t think that was meant to be a compliment, but she said nothing. His voice was harsh, and brooked no interruption. He was dressed in his hunting gear. Leggings that camouflaged in a dark brown, a vest of the same dark hue, a linen shirt of forest green, and boots of softest leather. He looked intensely beautiful, but he didn’t look at her.

“Jareth--” She yearned to apologize, but he stopped her midway. He wasn’t listening anymore.

“I understand.” His hand blocked up in the air, halting her words. “And I will take you to the lodge, as you wish.” He stalked the room, placing items of interest into his hunting pouch that he wore strapped across his back. Back and forth he paced, his motions precise and rigid.

“Where are you going?”

She shifted in the too large bed. It felt empty, incongruously so, without him to warm her. She had gotten used to sharing it with him, easily and far too soon. Her words stammered. Her heart, as well.

He looked at her, brief and without emotion. “To finish what I began. The rebellion isn’t over. We have a hostile to overtake.”

Sarah sat up, propping herself on one shaky arm. “Lord Drem--”

“King Drem.” Jareth said it with malice.

She nodded at the sad truth of it. “Yes, I suppose.” She slid out of the bed, coming to stand before her husband. “There’s something you should know of him.”

“There is nothing you can tell me,” he snapped, “That I wish to know or do not already know of that traitor.”

“You will kill him.” She said it, unequivocally bare.

“That is the plan.”

He shoved a shirt into his bag. It would wrinkle, she noted with an eye of a wife. Some wife; she was ready to abandon her mate at the first argument. His actions didn’t seduce a reconciliation but she wanted to try. She continued, her voice as pared down in emotion as his had been. To give way to feeling, was to break down completely.

“You don’t care that he is your friend.”

He hissed. “He is no friend of mine.”

She said, soft and with warning. “He loves you, you know.”

He shifted on his feet at the statement. His face clouded over, turned a hint of blush. But it was with anger, not compassion.

“I don’t care if he loves the bats coming out from hell. He is a a dead man.”

“Is that how you feel about me, that I am--”

He barked bitter laughter. It rang too loud in the cavernous room.

“I would rather cut off my right arm than not love you. But,” he repeated, “I understand.” He walked past her, not noticing or not caring, that her hand outstretched to him.

“Jareth--”

He walked past her again, reaching the door and opening it before she could finish. He paused, not looking at her. His command was clear.

“We leave in an hour. Be ready.”

He shut the door behind him as quietly, as deadly silent, as he had the night before. His forgiveness was long in coming.

She went to the closet and took out a dress, slowly unrobing. He wouldn’t like it if she were late.

*******

He picked her up, bodily setting her on a large black horse that looked ready to bite. She slid forward so that he could climb up behind her. They avoided touch, even in the close proximity. His arms braced her. She had never felt so impersonally caressed before, as Jareth gave no indication of wanting to let her redeem herself. So she sat silent, and so did he.

They reached the lodge. Time passed, excruciating and quick. Neither said a word; neither apologized. Each suffered.

Yane was stationed outside the small cottage, along with five other men from the Gar Nada, when they arrived. Sarah turned in her seat to peer back at Jareth. His face was stony.

“So many?”

“They will protect you.” Cold words. Colder heart.

She nodded. He reached around her and helped her dismount. He stayed seated on the large horse.

“You aren’t getting down?” she asked. More time; she needed it.

“No.”

Jareth handed her knapsack and the weapon he made for her to Yane. He held tight onto the reins, looking forward. Not at her; not at all.

“Jareth--”

He looked down, along her temple. Past her head. She sucked in a sob. “Be safe.”

He nodded, his jaw clenched to whiteness. He kicked the horse into motion. Then, only then, did he deign to look at her.

“I love you. Remember I love you.”

She had no chance to reply. He was already gone.

******

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Sarah’s hand went to her open mouth as she fought back the tears from her own folly. “I didn’t get to tell him,” she whispered. Her back was to the men that were stationed to guard her, but Yane answered.

“The Gar Nada are not known for their fools, Wife of Atar,” he said, his voice harsh and condemning. “You had your husband ready to murder any that faced his path last night. He is not a man prone to extremity of temper, but he was ready to kill, and it was because of you.”

“I’m sorry.”

A whisper. Nothing more would come out. Her fist clutched to her mouth, holding in the screams that came of her own foolishness. Yane was right; he was so right.

He shook his head. “Did you tell him that?”

She replied, the same sad motion. “No.”

“No, and now you might not get the chance.” He was matter of fact, dismissive.

Yane swung the front door open, gesturing her inside. Her face was miserable; she knew she had only herself to blame. Jareth gave her the only measure of power she had ever known, and she turned it against him, abusing it.

Her guard struck her conscience with one last word before he shut the door in her face, leaving all the men outside to stare in at her with unconscionable ire, their feelings for her made clear. “We know who you are, Sarah of Atar, and we know who you were. Don’t disappoint your lord for his trust in you.”

Queen of the Upper North. Queen of the Goblin Kingdom. A woman Damned. She fit them all, but mostly, she fit the last. She cursed herself, but she was only repeating what was already said.

She answered, but it was to a closed door. “I already have.”

*****

As time passed, as the battle progressed, the men stationed guard outside the lodge became fewer and fewer until only the nephew of Yane remained. Seven, his name was, a teenager just past his warrior initiation. In spite of his age, Sarah felt safe with only him there, as the youth was jumpy and pulled his weapon when even an animal passed the building. It might have incited her to smile, but nothing made her smile anymore.

She heard nothing from Jareth. Or at the very least, he kept himself aloof, ever-present as he said he would be, but not willing to show his face. Sarah didn’t blame him for keeping away.

Every few days, a gift appeared on her kitchen table. Food, a gown, some small pieces of jewelry, a crystal of his own making. Jareth had been there while she was sleeping, and left again without speaking to her. It should have reassured her that he was still alive, but she wanted him back and in her arms. The gifts felt cold; he promised to give her anything, and he followed through. But she didn’t want things—she wanted him. He seemed determined to be absent, and she knew she had only herself to blame.

The gifts made her cry. Everything made her cry.

When Lil showed up at the lodge suddenly, late one evening, her normally plaited hair a mess and her clothing askew, it was to Seven’s credit he hadn’t wounded her as she banged on the lodge door seeking admittance. Sarah stood outside, the air chill with impending winter, waiting impatiently until her handmaid had finished refreshment and was ready to talk. She paced and paced and paced, looking at the woman in impatience.

“Lil? What are you doing here?”

Snapped words. She would accept nothing from the woman but honesty. She knew Jareth barely trusted the woman; she wasn’t sure she should either. Her face reflected her inward turmoil.

“Not safe--” Still a huff. “I came as fast as I could.”

“What is it? Is it--” _Jareth, Jareth, my love. Please be_ _alive_ _..._

“Your husband,” Lilith sucked in a deep breath. “Jareth of Atar. He’s been taken prisoner in the castle of the Upper North. He is only allowed one visitor during his confinement, and he has asked for you.” As Lil finished her message, she swayed on her feet, exhausted and weak.

Seven scooped her up as she made to fall. “Take her inside, please, and put her on the chaise there.” Sarah pointed. Her heart raced. Jareth!

“I will go to him.” There was no question of not being with him; he needed her. _Prisoner!_

The boy hovered and Sarah made an attempt to keep her voice from barking out at him in her fear. “Please, I will need to borrow some of your clothing. I’m sorry that I must ask, but my dresses are far too impractical for journeying in such dangerous territory.”

The teenager made motion to argue but Sarah lifted her hand in regal detachment. “Say nothing, as my mind is made up.” Then her voice trembled. “Jareth needs me.”

He nodded, wary, but he retrieved the extra outfit. It smelled of sweaty boy, but she didn’t hesitate to offer appreciation for it. She went into the other room and pulled it on, the legs of the pants too long but tucked into her boots and with the vest, she was ready. She placed the quiver of arrows on her back, the bow in her shaking hand, and Jareth’s small crystal in the pouch by her side.

Seven was still waiting in the small living area. Without a word, he handed her a small hunting knife. “It’s for you,” he said, when she hesitated. “Strap it to your inner thigh. It’ll stay hidden there, just in case you need it.”

“My thanks.” Her voice held doubt. Her fingers trembled at the unfamiliarity of the weapon in her palm.

He instructed her with finite detail. “Just jab. Make sure you hit flesh. The point is to take the enemy down, to wound and to live.”

Sarah blanched. “I’m not sure I can.”

“You may be forced to,” his answer practical. He shrugged. “Living is a choice, and if the time comes, you shouldn’t hesitate.”

She nodded and then went back into the bedroom, tucking the weapon onto her person, before going back out to check on her handmaid. Lilith was nearly passed out on the furniture. Sarah stood over her. “Lil, are you coming?” Hands on hips.

The woman shook her head. “An impediment—you go.” She hung her head, half delirous, but still trying to converse. Sarah squeezed any further information she could out of the woman, then turned to Seven, her heart racing and her palms sweaty.

“We must hurry.”

“You can’t leave at night--”

“I will do as I wish,” Sarah snapped. “My husband--” She burst into awkward tears which she quickly dried on the backs of her hands. “I need to be with him.”

She was afraid, but the fear dissipated into anxious longing as Seven went to retrieve his horse, grumbling under his breath. His curses stilled the night air. But he mentioned no more to Sarah when she stood waiting for him to take her to the Upper North. He valued his skin, and Sarah knew she wouldn’t hesitate to browbeat any who refused her in the tense moment.

Seven helped her mount behind him on the animal, and they rode fast through the forest and the glen. They didn’t stop except for brief rest breaks for the animal to cool down, before they started off again, a mad rush of wind in the hair and adrenaline in the body.

She hated horses, but in the circumstance, she would ride alone if it meant being nearer to her husband. No fear. She shut her eyes and felt the breeze hail by, time passing along in a slow-motioned pendulum.

As they drew closer and closer to the castle, Sarah knew that the first instinct of trepidation she felt was the correct one. She should have listened to the boy-warrior. He had been right about the danger; they had to make circles and detours to avoid anyone, even those they thought were not enemies. The dark pressed all around them, full of beasts of man and animal. But her fear wasn’t of them. Her terror came from the thought of never being able to see Jareth again, to apologize to him for being so prideful, to kiss him and love him and never let him go.

The forest hung in silky black charring the nearer they drew to her old residence. Scarred. Battle-torn. She bit back another cry. Jareth had seen such horrors, and now he was being held as prisoner. Silent tears fell and she felt Seven’s grubby hand pat her own in reassurance as they clung about his waist.

Seven whispered, “The Gar Nada have been here.”

His words were meant to soothe, but she questioned in her heart why her husband had to be the one taken hostage as a casualty of the war. She saw the barren fields, burned to ash and rubble, and her heart skipped, in dread for Jareth.

They rounded the castle walls. The land was empty, oddly so.

The third time around the outer circle of wall, Sarah hissed into Seven’s ear. “Stop, right here!”

“There’s nothing--”

She slid down from the horse without help, bracing back onto her heels as she landed. “Just the end of a tunnel to my old bedroom.” She choked back a grin. She had found it, well-hidden though it had been.

She would go to Jareth, find him, take him away. She whispered with Seven. He was her rabid hope, a boy on the cusp of manhood. She swayed her fright away. She had to trust him; he was her only salvation.

******

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

Sarah crept along the passageway under the castle hallways, the air every bit as damp and cloistered as it had been the last time she went through. She ran her fingertips along the wall so as to guide herself through the dim-lit corridors. Right turn, left. Left and then another left, so that she almost made a square within the inner floors.

She reached a door. The faint amount of cobwebs reassured her she was in the correct spot. Press on the wall, the lever at eye level. Push. And then, her entrance found. She walked into the hallway, the passageway shutting behind her.

She stopped. No, it was all wrong. She had never been into this wing of the castle, though she knew who it had belonged to. Her husband, Hidal the Red.

Turning around was not an option. She had to sneak through the hallways until she reached her old rooms. Then she paused again, her body swaying, unsure of what direction to take, what to do. She listened. She froze.

Talking, just through the chambers to her right. It was Lord Drem.

And to her horror, Lilith, her handmaid. Sarah jolted to a full stop, her wariness at a fever stoke. The unknown of how the woman had gotten to the castle before Sarah, was a mystery she didn’t want to solve.

She turned, ready to run. No good could come of being where she was.

Alastair’s voice came out to meet her like a lure. “Come in, come in, little bird. We know you are out there.” His voice seduced, made no ploy of his intent.

Sarah stood outside the rooms, her breath quick, her pulse racing. “Come, my pet. We want to speak with you.” He drew her to him, his voice a silky promise.

She entered. She cast a glaring stare at her friend, her heart skipping at the sight of the massive bruising along Lilith's cheek, the gash near her eye.

“What have you done to her?” she demanded. The indignity surpassed her own fear.

“Only what she deserved. I treasure loyalty, and my little messenger has betrayed me.” Sweet indifference.

Lilith stepped forward toward Sarah, her hand outstretched. Imploring. “I came to warn--”

Lord Drem yanked the woman back, ripping her arm to the side with vicious intent. She screamed, and Sarah fisted her hand to her mouth. She had never seen such cruelty. But, she imagined there would be much more coming from the man with the ugly beauty.

“Leave her be, you monster!” Terror evaporated. She lunged toward Lil. Stopping short when he laughed, callous and cold. Amused.

“Monster? You have only begun to see what I am capable of, little bird.” His words were sly ribbons of silk, smoothing the skin in gentle repugnance.

“Don’t call me that.” She stood her ground, the weapon she held in her hand feeling very reassuring.

“Tut, tut,” he said, moving forward until his feet were only inches from her own. He grabbed the bow, pulled the quiver from her back, as her body stiffened in reaction. “You won’t be needing these.” He removed them as swift as a rotten tooth yanked from the gums. Painful but brief.

He strode to the roaring fireplace, turned to her with a secret smile, and threw them in. Sarah yelped.

“No!”

Lord Drem smirked. “What, a prized possession? Not any longer, my pet.”

“What do you want?” Her voice trembled. He smiled, a victorious and triumphant smile.

“Sarah, run,” Lilith hissed, and he stepped over with swiftness, yanking on her arm in brilliant reprisal, snapping the shoulder as she cried out.

“I warn you, dear Sarah, what you see of this wench’s downfall will be triple-fold to you if you do so.”

She couldn’t run. She couldn’t even move. Her lips pressed into wordless rebuttal.

He smiled again. “Nothing to say to me? Wise little girl.”

He circled her handmaid, ran his slender finger along her cheek. “So lovely. So brazen, so useless,” he said, cocking his head to the side, analysing. He purred. “So _dead.”_

He took a knife from along his side, slicing across the woman’s neck in one meticulous swipe. She slumped against him as he stood patiently. Fell. He pushed her off him, disgust on his face.

“There,” he said, bland. “A lesson learned. Never betray the one whose hand feeds you.”

With blood dripping from his delicate fingers and the knife caressed in his palm, he motioned Sarah to him. “Come my little chickadee. Meet your fate.”

“Leave her alone!”

Seven entered the room behind Sarah, their calculated plan gone awry. His youth made him bold. Made him the next target.

She turned her body to the boy. “Seven, no,” she warned.

The boy didn’t listen. He attempted to take on the older man, striking out with a fist and a sharpened blade. Missing the mark and fueling the amusement of the satyr of death.

The boy-warrior was bound to his downfall as quick as a lasso looping the air. One pass. Out. Gone.

He fell to the floor, his body slumped beside the handmaid. Sarah knew then, she would never leave the room alive. Seven was her protection, the back up plan. Now his youthful body lay slain, never to find love, never to marry, never to see the smile of his newborn child.

Tears ran down Sarah’s cheeks. She dashed them away. She felt so small, so useless.

“What happened to you, Alastair?” she said, hoping she could use her words to fight, to stay alive even a moment longer. “We danced, we talked. You were so kind.”

He snorted, an elegant refusal of her ploy. “Kind? I am nothing of the sort. If you knew, if you considered who I am, you would never say such things to me.”

“Who are you?” she asked, stalling.

“I am the slave. I am the master. I am king!” He paraded around her, a maniacal glean in his eyes.

She softened her voice. “Who hurt you, that you should be like this?”

He scoffed. “I have known such agony by the hand of my king, that you should never know.” He whispered, and Sarah knew he spoke truth.

“Hidal, my husband? He hurt you?”

He smiled, a painful grimace. “I was his lover, after all, my pet. And the king was not known for his benevolence.”

She stammered. “I didn’t...I didn’t know.”

He laughed heartily, the madness in his eyes unfolding like a rotting flower. “What? You thought him,” he paused dramatically, “Impotent. Incapable?” Lord Drem smiled, a sad and bitter smile. “No, my pet, he was anything but incapable.”

“He was always very generous--”

He snapped out, dividing her sentence with staccato rebellion. “With you?” He began to circle her again, a lupine angel, ready to sentence her. Ready to avenge. “You had what he wanted.” He moved close enough to touch her cheek, a gentle caress that burned with malice. “The chalice, the woman that could give him his heir.”

“No,” she shook her head. She would die, but she wouldn’t die a coward. “It wasn’t like that.”

He hummed, a deep destruction from his mouth. “No, my dear little bird. I am forgetting. He needed Jareth of Atar for that.” The madness consumed his face, his body tensing as if a brand had stoked his flesh. “Jareth, who should have been _mine.”_

She inhaled. “He was never yours.” She tried to back up; the wall met her back. She was trapped, the fireplace, Lord Drem and the stone wall of her prison surrounding her.

“No. But he will be.” He caressed the pronouncement. Deranged. Or maybe not.

He brought the bloody blade to her neck. Pressed lightly, until the tip broke her skin. Gentle, gentle, taunting.

“He will never be your pawn.” She spit into his face.

Lord Drem growled, wiping the spittle from his skin. “That was very stupid of you, my dear.” He yanked her arm behind her, pressing her to his body. He was disgustingly aroused.

A sinister voice came from the darkness. “I am here. Leave my wife alone.”

*******

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

“Ah!” Lord Drem said, his voice soothing in his lust. “How you have obligated, my pet.” He pushed Sarah away so that she slammed bodily into the wall, sinking onto the floor in stunned silence.

He strutted around a strangely stilled Jareth, his arms outstretched in vainglorious want. “My muse. You come for your bride. How deplorably quaint.” His eyes narrowed. “And unnecessary.”

Jareth never removed his eyes from his old friend. “Alastair. It seems you have left quite the array of bodies.”

“Useless wastes. Not even worth my time,” he sucked on his teeth lasciviously, “Or yours.”

“You think much of yourself, Lord Drem--”

“ _King_ Drem--”

“Yes,” Jareth soothed, his hand touching his weapon. “I am sure you truly believe that.”

“It is what I am owed.” He pranced, a dance of macabre relish. “ _You_ are what I am owed.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but you see, I am a married man.”

Jareth absentmindedly brushed off his shirt sleeve as if an offending piece of lint lodged there. His distraction was a lie; nobody could have been more alert than he.

“To a human chit!” Spittle flung from their foe’s flaring mouth. Jareth’s words instigating ire.

“To a woman I love.” Purposely bland.

Alastair made a moue of his mouth, a frown settling in. “Love? What is love? Nothing tangible, nothing like what we have.”

Sarah crawled against the safety of the wall, her head spinning. She heard Jareth’s voice, coming through to her like distant roaring water, drowning in her ears.

Jareth wiped a palm on his leg, casual. Too casual. He was in full control, the warrior ready for the hunt, ready for the kill.

Sarah spied him from the corner of her wavering eyes. The hit against the wall had jostled every part of her body. She opened her mouth to warn her husband of Alastair’s ruthlessness, but almost imperceptively, he shook his head at her. _Be silent._ She obeyed.

Her neck was slick with her own blood, drip drip dripping onto the floor, but at least she was alive. She only hoped Jareth could keep the madman at bay long enough for them both to escape. She wanted no more death. Even for the man that had brought his disaster upon himself.

He spoke to Jareth, preening. “Come, my love,” Alastair said, his body at peak arousal, the glamour of the kill making him fully ready for a sexual plunge. “Let us enjoy the victory. The king is dead.” A sly look crept to his face. “A death by no judge or jury,” he said, jubilant. “Almost _familial_ in scope.”

“So it seems.” Jareth stood ramrod still, ready to pounce. Ready for the slaughter. His question spoke of his intent, a coy reminder of his skill in drawing death. “What do you want, Alastair?”

“What I have always wanted.” The man licked his lips. “You.”

Jareth shook his head, chuckling, but not with mirth. The hover of tranquil slaughter spread across his face, in his retort. “Too bad, too bad,” he said, crooning, “That I am taken.”

Alastair shrugged, complacent. “So kill her. She is expendable.”

Jareth circled even as Sarah crept. “I’m sorry if I don’t feel that way.”

The taunt proved too much for the crazed man. He jerked to the side, quick, pulling Sarah roughly to her feet. She falsely thought she had reached relative safety by the shadow of the stone, but he was upon her like a demon’s spawn, shaking her viciously. Her teeth snapped together and tears blurred her eyes.

“She is _nothing_! Worthless rabble!” Lord Drem hissed with lustful jealousy. “She will _die_ this day.” He licked her face with a wet tongue, chin to temple, his wrath shrouding her like a vaporous wraith.

Rage filled every pore of Jareth. His face darkened with vengeance. He raised the hand with the weapon, moving forward. Alastair was smart enough to use Sarah as a shield. Jareth paused mid-strike. His first mistake, underestimating the enemy.

She was shaken again, a ragdoll in the hands of a harsh-mastered puppeteer, and this time she felt blackness start to overtake. Stay. Awake. Her eyes flickered. Escape, so very...close. Her body begged release.

Jareth looked at her with love’s adoration. Her sweet retribution, his promised glory. Her love, her life. She wanted to scream with fear.

_Never look away from the devil when he has met you in the eyes..._

Just a moment Jareth looked away from his target. Just long enough. Lord Drem dropped her to make way for another treasure. Her husband.

Alastair took Jareth’s slip, the pointed opportunity, to strike him down with one quick blow. No mercy, not even for the object of his desire. His lunancy made him invincibly strong. Jareth slumped on the floor, out cold.

Lord Drem crouched over him, crooning words of love with his faulted reasoning. “Oh, my love. How you have failed me.” He stroked Jareth demandingly through his breeches, uncaring that he wouldn’t respond. “I will hate to kill you.” His head cocked to the side, analyzing like a raptor to its prey. “But I have little choice, my darling. You chose unwisely, my heart.”

His deranged words of love motivated Sarah, shook her to awareness. Jareth, fallen, but _she_ would bring repentance to the unworthy. Her eyes narrowed with the bloodlust that would bring their salvation.

“ _\--jab. Make sure you hit flesh. The point is to take the enemy down, to wound and to live.”_

Seven’s words came to Sarah, swift and vital. Her knife, the one she had secured on her inner thigh. She looked at Jareth, unable to help. Unable to respond to the threat upon him. She pulled the weapon into her palm, a brilliant gleam of anticipated triumph. Alastair still made love to her husband while he slept in cold nothingness. He didn’t see. He wouldn’t know--

She swallowed her fear. Lunged. Struck. Met flesh. Sunk it down. Bone and blood, into her palms. The madman closed his eyes, his power coiled into nothing. The predator becomes the prey.

Sarah wept into her hands, the rush of battle willowing into faint reprisal. Blood spread on the floor, making it slick under her feet as she quickened to her mate.

“Jareth, my love. My darling. Please, wake up.” She cradled him, his wounded head laying limp in her lap.

He stayed silent, his head turned to the side. She touched his warm cheek, pressed her lips to his lips, stroking his hair back from his face. He never moved.

She rocked him. Over and over she held him. Minutes, an hour, passed.

Nothing.

Panic set in from where she had held it at bay. The vibrancy of her kill and the paralyzing of her mind drew from the wallow, making her tremble. Jareth—he had to waken! She shook him. Please please please--

_Nothing._

His pulse slowed to a mere crawl as she shook him, again and again. Shook. Shook in manic tribulation, upon his stilled body.

She screamed, loud and long and frantic, not caring of who heard. If anyone at all. His name, a dirge, a chant of their love. He never moved, never flickered his bruised in closure, eyelids.

The back of his head was wet with blood where he had struck the floor, her palms sticky with his draining life. Lord Drem gave his fatal blow. He had won after all.

She sobbed, reckless in her crooning, in the rocking vibrancy to her husband’s limp body. Three bodies, fatally expunged, laying on the floor in their own waste. _Damned_ if there would be a fourth.

Bitterness and frantic appeal clouded her cries. “You heal. You always heal.” Rock, rock, then tortured sighing. “You promised. You _promised_ \--”

Anger set in. “Wake up, damn you! Don’t leave me--”

Nothing.

Rage. “Liar! You’re nothing but a _fucking_ liar! Wake up, damn you, Jareth!”

Nothing, nothing. _Nothing._

She shook. Her body, her mind repeated her chant. Live, live, live my darling…

Then, she startled with a sudden hopeful joy. A crush of remembrance. Sucking in breath with renewed passions.

The crystal _\--_ made of dream, want and illusion. She pulled it from her pouch, looking into its muted depths as if it could show her life. It was her hope, the fallacy of truth, the greatest, purest want she had ever aspired to have. Jareth made the gift; she would give it back to him. She kissed it with fervency. Touched it to Jareth’s lips.

And waited. And waited…

******

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

Jareth coughed. Rolled over. Drew in long sucking breaths of life.

Sarah thrust herself at him, her body quivering, the tears racking her body. His gaze drew onto hers, his eyes at half mast.

“Sarah, kitten,” he said, his voice soft as he gave warning. “You are crushing me.” His pleasure of having her near was evident in his smile.

She kissed and kissed and kissed his face, the frantic fervor making her ignore his recent battle wound, slowly healing to a cooled patina. “I love you, I love you, my darling, oh how I love you!” she panted, repeating her affection in tempo time.

He beamed at her affection, touching her cheek. “I love you, also.” He crooned, “There is nothing to fear now, my precious thing.”

“You were nearly dead,” she said in a harsh moan. “I felt you slip away from me.”

His silence told her that he knew. His complacence pantomimed against the fear she had endured. “I thought you always healed. You weren’t healing.” An accusation made light, with the stock of fury behind it.

Again, silence.

“Jareth?”

He sighed, struggling to explain, to find words that wouldn’t flame a fire. “The last we spoke, there was much anger.”

She nodded. “Yes.” She bit at her lip, chagrined. Much of that anger came from her.

“I am sorry for it.” He made a frown, slight and self-condemning. She shook her head, not willing to give up responsibility for her own remarks.

He pulled her tighter to his body. She cradled in, her head under his chin. As he spoke, the rumble from his voice to his chest threaded through her. It was a comfort, though his words were not.

“Sarah,” he whispered, “I begged, pleaded to the great Unknown, for your life when I saw you struck down against the wall, nearly helpless.” He groaned, “Your fear was my fear. I thought you were going to die.” His voice hushed with potent knowledge. He bit back a choked curse, then said, “I came to you as soon as I realized you were within the castle.” His face flared with his own shame. “I didn’t expect to see what I found.” He paused. “Sarah, my precious one, I failed you, utterly and completely.”

“No!” She struggled against him, pushing up against his frame so that she looked down upon him. “You never failed me.”

His words were harsh. “I played a game. I played it well. Until it came to you, and I didn’t want to pretend any longer.” He ran a hand over his face. “Do you know what I am saying to you?”

No. She shook her head. His words were like bitter rambles, turned inward so that he castigated his very being.

He admitted, “I looked away,” he growled with rage at his perceived ineptitude, “Away from that _bastard_ \--when I should have been alert. I didn’t even strike a blow.” He nodded sadly. “I wanted to let him take me down, to let him kill me with proper fitting,” he groaned with misery. “I thought he had you beaten. I thought I lost you forever.”

She shook her head in denial, grimacing at his words, at his truth in them. “No! No, you couldn’t have,” she said, laying against his chest, her fists small receptacles of pain as they stabbed at his heart. A pummeling of want. She caught the words and defamed that which proved vital to her soul. “You couldn’t just die and _leave_ me--”

He smiled, tender but aware. “There was nothing left of me at that point, just a warrior in a broken shell.” He kissed her temple. “If I don’t have you,” he paused, honesty spearing them like a sword. “...I have nothing.” His hand lingered on her hip, securing her to him. “Sarah, I would give you anything--”

“Your _life_ , Jareth. You were willing to give your life--” She sat up, sudden outrage pouring out of her. “How _dare_ you! You would have given up--on me, on us--just like that--” She glared at him, though he mocked a smile as if he were oddly pleased by her fuming. Her bitterness came from within, a self-flagellation. “If I hadn’t been so heartless, you would have known without _question_ how I love you. How I adore every _breath_ in your body--”

He ran his finger over the smeared tears on her cheek. “I am to blame, just as much as you think you are, my heart.” He kissed her with gentleness. “I would always give of my life so that you might live.” Practical, full of veracity.

She sobbed at the thought that he had wanted to give in to death’s enchantment—all because of her pitiless expressions, the gratuitous embers of flame that came between them in that moment’s notice. “I cannot bear it. I have been so cruel. Please,” she begged, “Forgive me.”

He stroked her hair. “It is done, my love. We forgive the other for the stupidity that we seem to share,” he said, soothing and repealing her fears. “That is that. We move on from here, yes?”

He meant more than moving forward in their relationship. He declared the anger gone and done. So, it was done. But, she knew he also meant that she had to let go of the doubt and shame wracking her. He knew, as a man of war, that her actions were necessary. For her, though, it didn’t make death any easier to swallow.

“Yes,” she said, answering and kissing him with all the warmth she could return to him before she pulled away, aghast at the treacherous passions that had come back with such swiftness. The surroundings mocked her, mocked them for the voluptuous escape of lips.

“What I have done--” She paused and looked around, purging on the bloodied cobblestone that made her heart still a beat, on the bodies of her compatriots slain on the floor. “Lord Drem--”

Jareth continued to soothe her. He said nothing, but his eyes darkened at the mention of the man’s name. His hand slowed against her back, then resumed with careful circles of comfort.

Her tone was nothing but terrorized adrenaline that wafted back to her in sluggish recourse. Slow in coming, but reeking havoc until its complicit finish. She stated with bluntness, “I killed him. He’s dead--”

Jareth struggled to look over her at Lord Drem, her body weighing him back, unwilling to let him go. He smiled, a vindictive malevolence. “So he is.”

He scooped her to him, as if his life had not just been drained from his body. She cradled into him like a child, rocked in his arms as she cried and cried. He soothed and caressed. His coy nonchalance sat her upright again, the dichotomy of _need_ and needed pummeling against her.

“I killed him,” she repeated. She became very calm.

“I see that.” Jareth pulled her deeper into his embrace. He refused to let the war-zone around them crush their reunion. “My warrior.” Proudly acknowledging her sacrifice.

She shook her head. “They will come for me,” she said, her tone absolute. “I am wanted for murder.” She swallowed. “And I am. A murderer.”

His voice stayed her, blunt. “A warrior on the hunt is not a murderer. They are a vindicator of justice.” He sat up, pulling her up with him as he rose, his body shaky but sure. He lifted her chin with a gentle finger-press onto her skin, still murmuring reassurances.

“And never fear, my sweet. The Gar Nada surround the city.” She stared, obtuse. He continued, pulling her into a hug as they stood. “We have won. No one will come after the queen of the Labyrinth and the Upper North.”

She gave a smirk worthy of his own, trying to imitate his confidence, to exude when she wanted to shrink. “It seems I have attained kingdom and power to rival even you, my lord.”

Her head lowered, still shy in the knowledge, giving the man before her the greater gift. Her praise, her declaration, her love. Never would she have expected a slave in marriage and life to ever win a place of victory and honor. She had, though. She had.

“You always had more power than I, my darling.” He grinned, drawing her flush against him, a ready arousal from her presence and the aftermath of nearly dying. “Care to show me when we are home?”

He tucked his arm around her. _Home_. They couldn’t be gone fast enough to suit her. Perhaps she would never return to the castle of the Upper North. Perhaps. If enough time passed, the horror gone, she might return to create new memories. Ones of lust and love and remembrance.

She nodded. Yes, yes, yes. She would show him, however long it took to show her penitence. To reveal her absolute, desirous, love for the man, her master. Her slave.

She hid her eyes within the cradle of his arms, his chest a wall of strength against her. She peeked, a sigh releasing. Her handmaid. Gone. Seven. Gone. Even the effusive man she had once danced with, a madman in the making. Gone.

Jareth led her into the hallway, drawing her away with his hand linked tight within her own. Yane stood, tears rolling down his cheeks, looking inward at the sorry sight. Sarah left Jareth and went to him, kissing the man lightly on his weathered cheek. Her sorry extended to them all, all of the victims of the battle-torn land.

“He was a warrior,” she said, releasing the old man from his grief the only way she knew how, with words of condolence and applaud. “Brave and loyal. Worthy of his name.”

Yane nodded, taking her palm and kissing it with reverence. He nodded to Jareth, giving approval of her that would never again have its end. He shifted his weapon closer to his body, an extension of his form, his words admiring. “You are truly a lady, Sarah of Atar.”

Jareth held her as she returned back to his side, a part of him. A whole made of his and hers. His words admired. “She is more than that. She is a queen.”

Yane nodded. He entered his nephew’s gravesite, solemn and resigned. Wars never came easy; a warrior knew to fight. They knew how to die. Seven’s death had not been in vain.

Sarah knew that she and Jareth would return to the Labyrinth Kingdom, back into the forests of the Gar Nada, back to the lodge where their love grew. The past couldn’t be erased, but it could be repaired and replaced for the better.

A king, ready to make change. A queen, ready to rule her new kingdom. A marriage, a union. A blessing.

For them, a fervor of want revealed more than just truth and passion. Joining again would be all the sweeter for their sacrifices. Bountious desire, loyalty and respect in shared compliance, would extend until they were no more.

They would love and love and love. Until the stars were faint embers in the sky, until the land ceased to exist. A near eternal. An eternal that wasn’t long at all.

\-- _finis--_


End file.
